


Beautiful Chaos

by HarmonyLover



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pre-Canon, Series canon mostly holds for seasons 1-4, and in some instances I've just tried to bring out what is already there, or may already be there, thought the subtext is slightly different in some cases
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-03-28 19:18:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3866698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmonyLover/pseuds/HarmonyLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through two presidential campaigns and both terms of the Bartlet administration, our favorite deputies slowly find their way toward each other - with some help from a very wise blonde assistant. Slightly AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I began this story ages ago, and I am hoping that by posting it here, I can finally start getting new chapters up. I have many of them half-drafted and partly written, and I just haven't had the time in my life to really finish them and maintain their quality. However, I've been thinking about this story a lot, and so I'm hoping to pick it up again.
> 
> This story covers (at least) the Bartlet for America campaign through Sam’s campaign for the California 47th. There are scenes from the show in this story that I have re-imagined or added subtext to, and other scenes that are all my own. Most of the major events of the series will stay the same. I will do my best to note what, if anything, is taken from the actual show at the beginning of each chapter. If a chapter matches up to a particular episode, the chapter title should clue you in to that.
> 
> My thanks to Dipenates for early encouragement in writing this story and for the absolute gorgeousness of “A Whole World, Bit by Bit,” which made me completely reassess “Twenty Hours in America.” ("A Whole World, Bit by Bit" can still be found on FF.net.) The reassessment even made its way into the Prologue, as you will see! Finally, I am incredibly grateful to lcf328, who has been and continues to be an amazing and encouraging beta reader for this lengthy tale.

_Sam: You know anything about chaos theory?_

_Mallory: I know it has to do with fractal geometry._

_Sam: That’s about all I know, too. But it has to do with there being order, and even…great beauty in what looks like total chaos. And if we look closely enough at the randomness around us, patterns will start to emerge._

_~Episode 4.1, “20 Hours in America”_

Prologue

_I believe in a higher power, whether it is called God, Yahweh, Allah, Jehovah, or by some other name. I believe that out there in the cosmos are forces that we cannot possibly conceive of with our human minds, forces that mysteriously have an impact on our existence here.  Evil and Good exist not just as abstract concepts, but as the aggregate of human actions and decisions, victories and defeats, that direct the rise and fall of nations and the triumphs and tragedies of individual lives._

_Tonight, Evil has struck a heavy blow in a ten-second act of terror at a museum in Virginia. The uncontrolled hate of three individuals could have cost us our President, our Press Secretary, Secret Service agents, and civilians, as well as one young pair who were just beginning to understand the beauty of love. Simply by desiring each other, they became the unwitting victims of bigotry, the latest sufferers in our country’s shameful history of racism and prejudice._

_By some miracle, some mercy on the part of universe, President Bartlet was only wounded. C. J.  was only scratched. Zoey and Charlie were kept safe from harm. One woman in the crowd sustained minor wounds and will recover. My mentor. My friends. A stranger. Somehow they survived, and I am more thankful than any words can convey. I pray that Charlie and Zoey can withstand the psychological scars that they will surely carry from this night, that they are brave enough to keep loving each other in the face of violence. Love like theirs may be the best hope this country has for healing old wounds and finding peace._

_But I do not know yet who has won the battle. It is still being fought in an operating room just feet away from where I sit. Josh’s life hangs in the balance, a life for which I would gladly give my own, a life which has so much more to give to the world. I implore You, in whatever name You choose, let Good prevail tonight. Let the surgeons working to repair his injuries have Your grace in their fingertips; let Josh come back to us healed and whole. Let my love hold him here, for he is more to me than all others._

_The streets of heaven are too crowded with angels. I beg of You, do not add Josh to their number. God, Allah, Yahweh, I love him._


	2. Bartlet for America – Nashua and New York, 1997

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing belonging to _The West Wing_ ; it all belongs to NBC, Aaron Sorkin, et al. I write these stories purely for enjoyment; no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
>  **Author’s Note:** This chapter sets up a little bit of the background on Sam and Josh, as well as covering the famous scene in front of Gage Whitney from “In the Shadow of Two Gunmen.” It needs to be noted here that the dialogue between Sam and Josh for that particular part of the chapter belongs to Aaron Sorkin. I did not write it and I do not own it. Only the subtext is mine.

 Stepping into the train at Union Station, Josh looked around him for a comfortable seat, finally settling on a window seat near the middle of the train. He took off his trench coat and folded it, placing it on the aisle seat with his backpack on top.  Sitting down, he pulled out a stack of briefing memos to read, but he found his mind wandering as he watched the scenery flashing past his window.

He had to change trains in New York, but he had a three-hour gap between his arrival and departure, and he knew exactly how he was going to spend it.

He was going to get Sam.

That thought reminded Josh of Sam’s departure for New York four years ago. Sam was leaving the Hill to work at his law firm in Manhattan and Josh had just finished his first year as floor director in the Senate. He had helped Sam pack his car, which was bulging with all kinds of belongings: speeches Sam had written in college, law school, and here in Washington, suits in dry cleaning bags, law books, a box containing Sam’s Princeton pennant and his Gilbert and Sullivan scores, which he kept around for literary inspiration, and assorted smaller items that were perhaps the most personal. The briefcase his parents had given him when he had graduated from Duke with his law degree. A framed photograph of Sam and his father on their family boat in California, taken when Sam was about twelve. More recent pictures of Sam and his girlfriend, Lisa Sherbourne, whom Josh couldn’t bring himself to like despite her intelligence and ambition. The leather-bound set of Dickens that Sam had bought himself after his first month at Dewey/Ballantine. Josh knew these things almost as well as he knew himself by now; he knew how they all held small parts of Sam that would be felt by anyone who touched them.

They had brought out the last box and fitted it into the already overflowing vehicle, and then Josh had said, his eyes twinkling, “Stay here for one minute. I’ll be right back.”

Sam’s expression had been puzzled, but he had stayed still as Josh hopped back up the stairs to his apartment and gone inside momentarily, only to emerge with a large rectangular frame.

“Josh, what on earth is that?” Sam asked. “Please tell me I don’t have to fit it in my car.”

“You do, because it’s your going away present,” Josh said, grinning. “Don’t worry, it will fit on top of everything.”

“If you say so,” Sam said dubiously, eyeing the car and then the substantial frame. “What is it?”

Josh turned the frame around triumphantly so that its content was visible. Red and white stripes marched proudly down a large flag, with a rattlesnake winding its way across the canvas.

_Don’t Tread On Me._

“A First Navy Jack for Mr. Seaborn, sailor, counselor extraordinaire, and the Hill’s resident revolutionary,” Josh said with a flourish, or as much of one as he could manage without dropping the frame. “Go revolutionize Manhattan law, Sam, and don’t let anybody stop you.”

A slow smile spread over Sam’s face as he looked at the flag in Josh’s hands. He reached out to touch the frame, tracing it gently with his fingertips. “It’s amazing,” he said sincerely. “Although I don’t think I’ll hang it in my office,” he quipped, meeting Josh’s eyes. “It might scare the other associates and partners.”

“They could probably use a little scaring,” Josh joked back.

“Probably,” Sam agreed, his smile growing wider at the thought of some of the older Gage Whitney lawyers walking into his office with a large rattlesnake on the wall. “It’s wonderful, Josh. I’ll think of the Continental Navy and the Revolution every time I see it.”

“I thought of our revolution,” Josh said, his voice suddenly quiet. “You won’t forget?”

“No,” Sam agreed softly. “The Real Thing.”

“The Real Thing,” Josh agreed. “I’ll find it, Sam. Whoever that person is, I’ll find him or her, and I’ll come get you the minute I do.”

“I know,” Sam said warmly. “I know you will.” Their eyes locked, and the two of them exchanged a silent promise, remembering a late-night conversation that had been full of ideals and ambition and dreams.

Josh grinned again, breaking the solemnity of the moment. “Do you know what else I thought of?”

“No,” Sam said warily, recognizing a setup when he heard one.

 “Rattlesnakes don’t attack unless provoked,” Josh said teasingly.

“Hey!” Sam protested, but he was smiling.

“It should serve as a warning,” Josh said, still grinning. “Heaven help the client or partner who manages to make you angry.”                     

“I plan on trying to keep rousing arguments confined to the conference room,” Sam said.

“We’ll see how that works out,” Josh rejoined.

Sam shook his head in amusement before saying, “Here. Let’s fit this thing in the car.”

They struggled with the frame for a moment, but managed to rest it on top of the piles in the backseat without blocking the rearview mirror. Once that was done, however, the two men stood looking at each other awkwardly, neither of them wanting to say goodbye. Finally, Sam put his hand out and Josh took it, then pulled Sam into a brief hug.

“Goodbye, Josh,” Sam said, pulling back and meeting his eyes. Josh could see the sadness there, and knew Sam could probably see the same emotion in his face. They had been good friends before this, but working on the Hill together had brought them closer than ever, and it was hard to acknowledge the end of something that had been so important to both of them.

“Goodbye, Sam,” Josh said. “Good luck. You know how to reach me?”

Sam nodded. “Yes. You’ll write?”

Josh nodded in his turn. “I’ll try. Although I’m sure my letters will look like grade school compositions compared to your prose. That’s been true ever since I met you.”

That got a chuckle out of Sam. “Your writing is colorful.”

“Which is a Sam way of saying that it sounds exactly like me and not like anything that should be read from a podium,” Josh said with a laugh. He lifted his hands up and turned Sam around so that he was facing away from him, giving him a little push between the shoulder blades. “Go.”

Sam walked around to the driver’s side of his car, opening the door.

“Sam,” Josh said hesitantly. Sam looked up, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.

“Take it easy,” Josh told him. _There will be a next time._

Sam smiled again, and his expression let Josh know that he understood what had gone unsaid.  “Okay.”

Josh smiled back, and lifted his hand as Sam drove away.

Sitting on the train to New York, Josh vividly remembered the ache he had felt watching Sam leave. It had surprised him, then, to realize just how much he had come to depend on Sam in the seven years of their friendship. Now they were into year eleven, and Josh wanted to bring Sam with him to the White House. He wanted his best friend’s advice, his counsel, his speechwriting, his idealism. He wanted Sam to help craft a winning platform.

The hard part was going to be convincing Sam that Josh needed him. John Hoynes wasn’t exactly the kind of political candidate they had pictured, even if he was going to win the South and the election. He wasn’t their Real Thing, as much as Josh tried to ignore that in the daily campaign meetings. Hoynes was a smart man, maybe even a good man, but he was also a consummate politician and highly practiced at avoiding questions and manipulating the system. He said what people wanted to hear in a campaign, instead of telling hard truths and offering solutions.

Josh sighed, running his hands through his hair. Before leaving for this crazy trip to Nashua, he and Hoynes had gone yet another round on Social Security, and Josh was once again left feeling frustrated by the lack of direction, the lack of definitive goals in the campaign thus far. It was that dissatisfaction (along with a masterful guilt trip) that had led Josh to agree to Leo’s request. He could never refuse Leo anything; this was the man who had been “Mr. McGarry” when Josh was small, who had come to the house and spent long evenings discussing politics with his father, who had become “Mr. Secretary” when Josh began working in Washington. He trusted Leo’s political instincts above anyone’s, and he wondered if maybe, just maybe, Leo had managed to find a man who was better than Hoynes.

He couldn’t decide whether he hoped that was true or hoped that it wasn’t.

* * *

Leaving the train at Penn Station, Josh made his way up to the street, looking for a pay phone from which to call Sam’s law firm. He hoped Sam had a few minutes free; it was going to take some time to get to Sam’s office, and he didn’t want to miss the next train. He shuddered at the thought of having to explain to Leo that he had missed Bartlet’s speech because he had been recruiting a friend for Hoynes.

Josh slowed as he neared a pay phone, pulling two quarters out of his pocket and slipping them into the coin slot. As the dial tone sounded in his ear, he paused, staring blankly at the index finger that was hovering over the “0,” waiting to dial the operator.

He didn’t know the name of Sam’s firm.

It was one of the biggest law firms in the city. They had just finished a huge corporate merger for Shearson, and he couldn’t remember the name of it. He had just been remembering the day Sam left to work for this company, and the name hadn’t been in their conversation. He couldn’t get a number from the operator if he didn’t know the name.

Swearing silently to himself, Josh hung up the receiver and started walking. He knew _where_ Sam’s office was, having been there two years ago for a visit when Congress had recessed for the summer. He would just have to show up and hope that no one threw him out before he could find Sam. He mentally berated himself for leaving behind the little book that contained all of his most important numbers. Why hadn’t he thought to bring Sam’s number with him?

 _Because this whole trip has been unplanned and impulsive, including this crazy thing you’re doing right now_ , Josh thought with a sigh.

Catching a subway train that took him closer to Central Park, Josh went up to the street and resumed his walk for another few blocks until he saw the large building that housed Sam’s law firm.

Gage Whitney Pace. _That_ was the name of the firm.

Shaking his head, Josh moved toward the high-rise, his steps quickening. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to see Sam in person, to see those vivid blue eyes looking back at him and hear Sam’s voice, the same voice that spoke so clearly in his mind every time he read a letter from Sam.

Striding toward the elevator, he jabbed at the button, quickly checking the directory to make sure he knew the floor for Sam’s office. He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the elevator, then tapped it some more through several stops and exchanges of passengers.

When the car finally stopped at the correct floor, Josh stepped off and walked through the hall, glancing at nameplates as he went until he found the door bearing Sam’s name. A dark-haired secretary looked up as he entered.

“May I help you?” she asked politely.

“I’m looking for Sam Seaborn,” Josh said, with what he hoped was a friendly smile.

The woman looked him up and down. “Are you a client? Do you have an appointment?”

Josh chuckled. “No. My name is Josh Lyman, and I’m just an old friend. I was on my way to New Hampshire from Washington and wanted to stop by.”

The woman nodded, giving him a tentative smile in return. “Well, he’s in a meeting, but you’re welcome to wait. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Thanks,” Josh said. “I appreciate it.”

“Not at all. Make yourself comfortable.”

The secretary left the room, and Josh took a moment to look around him. This was only the reception area for Sam’s office, so there was little to take in, but through the open doorway Josh caught sight of a bookcase filled with law tomes, a mahogany desk, an open laptop, and a picture of Sam and his parents that sat on one of the bookshelves. He frowned inwardly. The entire room seemed too…sterile. It was neat and orderly, as Sam always was, but there was nothing that gave a glimpse of the person he knew. What was this place doing to his best friend?

“Hey!” said a familiar voice, and Josh turned rapidly to face a grinning Sam.

“How you doing?” Josh said happily as they reached out and hugged one another. As Sam complimented him on how he looked and Josh asked if Sam had made partner, he took in as much as he could of Sam’s appearance and expression. He was clearly glad to see Josh, but he also looked tired. No, tired wasn’t quite the word for it. He looked weary, or resigned. There was something in his face and eyes that Josh didn’t like, as though his old idealistic passion for words and ideas had been buried under compromises and professional obligations.

As they left the office and went down to the hot dog vendor, as Josh confessed his inability to remember Gage Whitney and Sam teased him, it occurred to Josh that the resignation he saw in Sam’s eyes was reflected in his office, that the sterile decoration conveyed authority and competence, but none of the vividness he was used to when he looked at Sam.

_He’s miserable. He’s going through the motions of this because he thinks he should be. Well, maybe I can help with that._

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked, and all of Josh’s attention returned to their conversation.

“I’m on my way to Nashua,” Josh said.

“What’s in Nashua?” Sam asked curiously.

“Ah, a waste of time,” Josh said dismissively, frustration coloring his tone. “Listen, you know why I’m here?”

“You want me to quit my job and come work for Hoynes?” Sam returned bluntly.

The way Sam answered him was all it took for Josh to put the pieces together. _He knew I would come asking, or at least he hoped I would, enough that he thought about it. But he’s refusing_. Josh’s heart sank; he had known this wouldn’t be easy.

“He’s gonna win, Sam,” he said, a thread of entreaty entering his voice. _I know this isn’t perfect, it isn’t what we wanted, but come with me_.

“So what do you need me for?” Sam retorted, a trifle facetiously.

“A better campaign; come do some speechwriting,” Josh fired back. _Please do this; you’re not happy, and we can run a winning campaign_.

“Lisa and I are getting married in September,” Sam said suddenly, and they both stopped abruptly.

Josh turned and stared at Sam as he tried to take that in. “Ah,” he said, fumbling for something else to say.

“Yeah,” Sam said, smiling, although his face and voice were also apologetic. Josh realized his best friend was simultaneously giving him a reason for refusing and apologizing for it, knowing that his news would be unwelcome, that Josh and Lisa had never gotten along.

Josh felt as though someone had turned his veins to ice. There in that smile was the Sam he knew, and he was smiling that way because of Lisa. Lisa, who was undeniably beautiful and smart, but who couldn’t understand Sam’s idealism, his love of politics, his “impractical” ambitions for his life. Lisa, who thought that being a partner at Gage Whitney Pace made more sense than working in politics. Lisa and Sam were getting married.

“Okay,” Josh said, trying to smile and knowing that it was brittle, that Sam could see his disappointment and every uncharitable thought about Lisa Sherbourne that he wasn’t saying. “Listen, I should go, I should let you –”

“I’ve got to get back to this thing,” Sam said quickly, the difficulty of refusing still clear on his face.

Looking at Sam, Josh hated himself for his own reaction to the news that his best friend was getting married, and he knew he had to say something, anything, to get them back on their normal footing.

“It’s good seeing you,” he said sincerely, trying to cross the awkward barrier that had been erected.

“It’s good seeing you, too. I miss you,” Sam said wistfully, and there, _there_ it was, even more so than when he had mentioned Lisa, Sam’s soul looking out at him through eyes that were the blue of a summer sky, the blue of the California ocean that Sam loved so much. Josh felt regret well up in his chest all over again, and he turned and began to walk away, but he couldn’t leave it like that. He couldn’t leave _them_ like that.

He looked over his shoulder. Sam had his hands in his pockets and was walking away.

“Hey, congratulations on the partnership!” he called. Sam had worked so hard for that partnership, and no one could possibly be more deserving of it than Sam was. Josh tried to shape the words to congratulate Sam on the wedding, as well, but he couldn’t quite manage it. He turned again, forcing his feet down the sidewalk.

 “Josh!”

Josh spun around, eyebrows raised. Sam had sounded almost as though he was speaking against his better judgment, as though he couldn’t leave things this way, either.

“Hoynes. He’s not the Real Thing, is he?”

Josh felt his stomach twist unpleasantly at Sam’s question. Of course Sam would know. He would know just by watching Hoynes on C-Span. Still, Hoynes was not the worst candidate in the world, and Josh felt a sudden, irrational need to justify why he was running the man’s campaign.

“See, that – the thing you’ve got to understand about Hoynes –” he started.

Sam stopped him mid-stutter with a slight shake of his head. “It’s okay,” he said reassuringly.

“No, I’m – I’m saying –” Josh tried again.

“Josh,” Sam repeated, cutting him off for the second time. A smile played over his lips as he paused. “What are you doing?”

It was their old code phrase for when one of them was confused, misguided, or simply screwing up, and everything they had shared in the last eleven years was reflected in Sam’s face, and Josh had never been more grateful for Sam than he was right this minute. Sam understood; he understood every nuance of the choice Josh had made, but he was also calling Josh on his own ambivalence.

“I don’t know,” Josh confessed with a half-smile. “What are you doing?” he asked in return, completing the ritual.

“Protecting oil companies form litigation,” Sam said baldly. “They’re a client. They don’t lose legal protection because they make a lot of money.”

_Oh, Sam. You’re protecting the people we wanted to be fighting against. What are you doing to yourself? No wonder this place is making you unrecognizable._

“I can’t believe no one ever wrote a folk song about that,” Josh said aloud, and he felt a quick surge of happiness when Sam gave a genuine grin, the first one he’d seen since they had greeted each other upstairs. Josh leaned forward impulsively, wanting to coax this Sam, his Sam, back into the open. “If I see the Real Thing in Nashua, should I tell you about it?” he asked intently.

Sam met his eyes. “You won’t have to,” he said earnestly.

“Why not?” Josh asked curiously.

“You’ve got a pretty bad poker face,” Sam said affectionately.

“Okay,” Josh smiled. He turned to go. “Take it easy.”

“Okay,” Sam answered, and after one final parting look, Josh walked briskly back to the subway, his heart just a little lighter and his mind clearer than it had been in months. He would go to see Jed Bartlet, and if Leo was right about the New Hampshire governor, he would come back and tell Sam about him. The rest could wait.

 


	3. Bartlet for America - Nashua and New  York, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing belonging to The West Wing; it all belongs to NBC, Aaron Sorkin, et al. I write these stories purely for enjoyment; no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
>  **Author’s Note:** This chapter covers a lot that we didn’t actually see in the series, including Sam leaving Gage Whitney and New York and Sam and Lisa’s breakup. Lisa seems to get overlooked or demonized a lot in fandom, and I don’t particularly like that. I tried very hard to make her seem like a real, caring person in this chapter. I wanted to show that Sam lost quite a bit on a personal level when he made the choice to work for Bartlet for America, and I also wanted to set up the conversation that he has with Lisa in 3.12, “100,000 Airplanes.” 
> 
> As I was writing this I was struck by the importance of Sam’s debate with Kensington Oil. At this point, we are fifteen years after this episode aired, and it’s still so overwhelmingly relevant to what’s happening both politically and environmentally.

Chapter Two: Bartlet for America – Nashua and New York, Part Two

As Sam walked away from Josh to return to his meeting with Kensington Oil, he collided with a woman coming from the other direction, almost losing his balance. He apologized profusely, but the moment managed to jerk him out of the haven of his few minutes with Josh and brought reality crashing back down around him. He had refused to work for Hoynes, but as always, seeing Josh made everything vivid and exciting, and the idea of working for the Real Thing pulled at him like a magnet. It would be wonderful to be a part of something so meaningful, even if they didn’t win. If Josh came back tomorrow and told him that the New Hampshire governor (was Bartlet his name?) was a man who represented their dreams of years ago, he wasn’t sure he could say no.

 _I can’t do this_ , Sam told himself firmly as he hurried back toward Gage Whitney. _I have a meeting to get back to, a career to advance, a fiancée. I can’t do this_.

 _But how often do you get asked to work a presidential campaign?_ his conscience argued back. _How often do you get the chance to make political history, even if you lose? If this turns out to be the Real Thing and you aren’t there for it, how are you going to live with that?_

 _Lisa will hate it,_ the more logical part of his brain pointed out. _She hates politics, she can’t understand why they excite me, why I love them. She’ll hate the very idea of this._

_But she loves you. She’ll let you do this, if it’s what you want. You can make her see that this is important to you._

_I can’t ask this of her. It would mean delaying our wedding, delaying the Gage Whitney partnership, delaying so many things we’ve been planning. If this really turns into a run for the presidency, it would upset our entire life._

_Is it really the life you want?_

That last thought stopped Sam cold on the way to the elevator. The very fact that his own mind had formulated the question shocked him. _Of course_ this was the life he wanted. He had poured every hour into his law career, into his relationship with Lisa, into making partner, since leaving the Hill. He took pride in his work, even if it occasionally offended his ethical standards. He wanted this partnership; he wanted the respect of his colleagues; he wanted Lisa and the life they had planned for themselves.

 _It wasn’t always what you wanted_ , his heart whispered. _How can you live with yourself if Josh comes back for you and you refuse him?_

By the time Sam went home that night, he still didn’t have an answer to that question. He had been distracted through the rest of the day, to say the least, but luckily managed to make it through his meetings, mostly thanks to his secretary Caroline, who handed him the correct files and reminded him who everyone was that came to sit in his office.

He walked into his apartment that night feeling tired; he rubbed his eyes in weariness as he put his key in the lock. He just wanted to talk to Lisa and have a chance to regain some objectivity.

“Lisa,” he called as he entered.

“Hey,” she answered cheerily, looking up from where she was working on the couch. The sound of her voice soothed him. It was calm and familiar and comforting.

“Hey,” he replied, doing his best to sound happy. He _was_ happy to be home; he was just anxious. It was as though Josh appearing (or reappearing, depending on how you looked at it) at Gage Whitney had thrown the pattern of his life into something different, something strange that he didn’t quite recognize, and it left him feeling terribly unsettled.

“How was your day?” she asked, leaning her face up for a kiss. He kissed her leisurely in return, running his fingers through her short blond hair before pulling back to look at her.

“Rather lousy, actually,” he said with a sigh. “I had a meeting with Kensington Oil and realized that I was basically enabling them to buy a cheap fleet of boats with no financial or legal repercussions for the damage they are eventually going to cause to the environment.”

 “They’re a client, Sam. That’s your job,” Lisa said reassuringly. “They pay you to make sure that their liability is covered.”

“I know,” he replied in frustration. “It’s just that I would feel a little better about doing my job if I thought that they were taking their own ethical responsibilities seriously. They aren’t. They want the cheap boats, and they don’t care what the long-term effects will be.”

“Did you tell them that?” Lisa asked, a bit apprehensively.

“No, I didn’t tell them that,” Sam said shortly. “I left for my office to get some of the paperwork, and by the time I got back to the meeting I had cooled off. I finished the meeting and stayed off of Jack Gage’s radar.”

“Don’t snap at me, Sam,” Lisa reproved him mildly.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed again, already regretting his brief burst of temper. “I’m just . . . it was a hard day. I don’t like these kinds of deals; this isn’t the reason I went into law to begin with. I want to make people’s lives better, not make them worse by association. The law is there to help, not to allow exploitation and irresponsibility.”

“Kensington Oil does not represent the sum total of what you’ve accomplished as a lawyer, Sam,” Lisa said reasonably. “Think of how many people you have helped; think about the companies and individuals who have come to you and Gage Whitney wanting to do the right thing. You’ve helped them do that. You’ve set up trusts, non-profits, foundations, business contracts that help protect the environment. The deals like the one for Kensington are only a small fraction of everything that you’ve done.”

“You’re right. Thank you,” Sam said sincerely. “It’s nice to be reminded of that. That meeting today aggravated me like nothing has in a long time.”

“Think of it as paying the partners their due,” Lisa chuckled. “In a month you’ll be a partner and you won’t have to answer to them so much anymore.”

“Let’s hope not,” Sam agreed, smiling now. “What about you? What did you do today?”

“I was working on a feature article about the new Hollywood actresses,” she replied. “It was fun. There are all kinds of new young women in the major releases, and _Vanity Fair_ wanted to do a spread on them, make people aware of who they are. We’ll have them in a group on the cover, and do smaller shots inside with the article. It should be nice.”

“That sounds great,” Sam said warmly. “It must be fun interviewing them.”

“It is,” Lisa laughed. “They’re always interesting, you know, even if it’s just because they’re quirky or odd. Some of them have charities that they contribute to or have started themselves; some of them just have strange hobbies. Some of them are incredibly political, which doesn’t really excite me, but thanks to you I know more than enough to keep up.”

Sam felt a familiar wave of irritation hit him at Lisa’s comment. He had learned a long time ago to accept that she wasn’t interested in politics, even thought it rankled deep down that she couldn’t see their importance. On normal days her attitude didn’t faze him; after all, there were plenty of other things she _was_ interested in, including good writing, theater, music, art, and education. However, today wasn’t normal, and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to change that. He made an effort to keep his tone light and noncombative as he answered.

“It’s funny you should mention politics. Josh came to see me today,” he said.

Lisa tensed visibly, but kept her tone neutral as she said, “Oh? What was he doing in New York?”

“He was in between trains heading up to New Hampshire and wanted to catch up,” Sam answered. “He was trying to persuade me to come work for Hoynes, do some speechwriting.”

Lisa leaned forward, and Sam could feel the anxiety coming off of her in waves. “Tell me you said no, Sam. Please tell me you said no.”

“Of course I said no, Lisa,” he said, as reassuringly as he could. “I’m about to make partner and our wedding is in September. We have a life here. Even if those two things weren’t happening, John Hoynes isn’t the kind of man I would want to work for.”

Lisa studied him for a minute, narrowing her eyes slightly. “But?”

Sam blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“But?” she prompted again. “You can’t tell me there isn’t more to that thought, Sam.”

Sam grimaced internally. He didn’t want to tell her about New Hampshire, about the Real Thing, about the mental battle he’d been having all day, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of lying to her about it.

“He’s going to see a guy in New Hampshire,” Sam said reluctantly. “Someone who might be several levels above Hoynes as a candidate.”

Lisa’s lips tightened into a thin line. “And part of you wants to go with Josh to save the world, if this guy is as good as Josh thinks he is.”

Sam started to reply, but Lisa shook her head, standing up in agitation. “He always does this,” she said sharply, her voice full of distress. “He always does this. Every time Josh shows up in your life, you want to go running off on some nonsensical, idealistic quest!”

“A presidential campaign isn’t nonsensical, Lisa!” Sam retorted, his voice rising with his temper. “I just turned down a chance be a speechwriter for the prohibitive favorite for the Democratic nomination, not only because I don’t think that he’s a good enough man for the office, but because I didn’t want to completely disrupt everything we’ve planned together! It was the right decision, but that doesn’t mean that I feel wonderful about turning down a chance to be part of political history!”

“If Josh goes to work for some upstart political candidate in New Hampshire, he’ll be lucky if he’s a blip on the campaign radar,” Lisa said coldly. “If it’s presidential history he’s looking for, he should stick with Hoynes.”

“Josh has incredible instincts about these things, Lisa,” Sam snapped.

“So you say,” Lisa argued back. “He should know better than to drag you into a political suicide mission that would ruin a huge career step for you!”

Sam’s face went white, and it felt to him as though he was drilling holes through Lisa with his eyes. She had just crossed a line he hadn’t even known existed, and he could see by her face that she knew it.

“Josh would never do that,” he said, his voice vibrating with fury. “He would never get me into anything he didn’t believe in, and he certainly wouldn’t drag me into anything I didn’t want to be a part of. I know you two have never exactly gotten along, but I can’t believe you would think so little of him.”

Sam turned away from her and walked to the window, trying to get a grip on his anger. “There are no guarantees in politics, Lisa,” he continued, biting off his words to keep from shouting at her again. “It’s almost impossible to know what the outcome of an election will be, but I will tell you this: If Josh is leaving Hoynes’ campaign, when he knows better than anyone that Hoynes is the favorite for the nomination, then he has to have some serious misgivings about Hoynes’ political positions or skills. Josh doesn’t leave people, and for him to make this move means that Governor Bartlet is incredibly compelling as a candidate.”

“And if he’s wrong, you and everyone working with you will look like idiots!” Lisa exclaimed heatedly. “ _He_ might be able to salvage his career; he’s worked in Washington his whole life. What does he think will happen to you?”

“I’ll get hired by another corporate law firm and move on,” Sam said, still keeping his back to her. “I don’t work full-time in politics.”

There was just the slightest edge of bitterness to his voice, and Lisa heard it, but before she could answer he turned to face her again.

“You know, if nothing else, you could trust my opinion of Josh,” he said. “He’s my best friend, Lisa. Do you have such a low opinion of my judgment that you think I would spend eleven years being manipulated by him for his own gain? Do you really think I’m that foolish?”

“No,” Lisa said quietly. “I’m sorry, Sam; I didn’t mean it.” She slowly walked up to Sam, reaching out and putting her hand on his forearm, and Sam could feel it trembling on his skin.

“The thing is,” she whispered haltingly, “there’s this whole part of you that I don’t know, that I don’t recognize or understand, and Josh always manages to stir that up. It scares me, Sam. That person you become – I don’t know if I could follow down the paths you would take. I don’t think I’m strong enough, or unselfish enough. That scares me.”

Sam sighed. “What I’ve never been able to get you to see is that you don’t have to be scared. That part of me has always been there, even before I met Josh. He’s just always been the one who understood that person the best. I feel as though you’ve never tried to understand.”

“I haven’t,” Lisa admitted, her voice teary now. “I was scared of losing you, and I didn’t want to understand the part of you that was going to take you away from me.”

Seeing Lisa on the verge of tears chased away the last of Sam’s anger, and he pulled her into his arms. “I’m not going anywhere. I told Josh no, remember?”

“And if he comes back from New Hampshire?” Lisa questioned, her voice muffled against his chest.

“I’ll find some other way to tell him no,” Sam said firmly. “It will be harder, but I’ll find a way. I love you. We’re getting married, we have a life here. I don’t want to give that up.”

“Okay,” Lisa whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Sam said, squeezing her tightly before she pulled away from him and wiped her hand across her eyes. She looked up at him, her face vulnerable and sad now. “Are you coming to bed?”

Sam leaned down and kissed her gently. “I have some work I need to do, but I’ll be in soon.”

She nodded, giving him a small smile. “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning then. ‘Night.”

“Goodnight,” Sam replied, mustering a smile in return. Lisa turned and went down the hallway, and a moment later Sam heard the sounds of her nighttime ablutions from the bathroom. He collapsed onto his couch, throwing an arm across his eyes as he leaned his head back. He had known that talking to Lisa about Hoynes and New Hampshire, and above all about Josh, was going to be hard, but he hadn’t anticipated quite how much it would hurt to have the two people in the world that he was closest to pulling him in two different directions. It had been tearing at him all day, and after his argument with Lisa he was on the verge of exhaustion.

 _I need to think about something else for a while, get some distance from this_ , Sam told himself. _Think about Kensington; how can you convince them they’re making a mistake by buying these boats?_

Looking at his laptop, which was still sitting in its case on the table, he heard his own remark to Josh ringing in his ears: “They’re a client. They don’t lose legal protection because they make a lot of money.”

Oil companies were entitled to legal protection, but didn’t they have an obligation to try and make sure that protection was unnecessary? Didn’t they have an ethical duty to make their operations as safe as possible, make their ships as technologically advanced as could be, so that the risk of creating millions of dollars worth of environmental damage was minimized? It was an argument Sam had gone through many times with his classmates at Princeton, and he had convinced some of them. His colleagues in Congressman Thompson’s office had agreed with him; Josh had agreed with him. If the oil companies couldn’t be convinced to spend more money on safety simply as a matter of environmental and social ethics, then there should be legal measures in place that forced them to do it. The potential for environmental and medical catastrophes was simply too high.

Sam got up and retrieved his computer. He brought it back to the couch and began searching the Internet for everything he could find on shipping regulations and available fleets of ships. There had to be safer boats out there, boats that weren’t a disaster waiting to happen. He hadn’t come up with a satisfactory answer to give Josh (assuming Josh even came back), but this was something that he could try and fix.

Sam still didn’t have an answer when he went to work the next morning. No answer would come to him until, in the middle of his argument with the Kensington Oil executives, Josh rapped on the glass of the conference room.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you just did that!” Josh laughed as they strode down the hallway of Gage Whitney toward Sam’s office. “I expected you to finish your discussion and come talk to me, not leave the meeting and quit your job in the same breath.”

“I was about to get fired anyway for suggesting that Kensington spend eleven million extra dollars on safer boats,” Sam said, grinning with exhilaration. “Ever since you showed up here yesterday, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about all the things we wanted to do, and they didn’t include any of this. We wanted to pass regulations that would control potential oil disasters. I never wanted to be writing mortgages and legal contracts that would make it easier for oil companies to avoid responsibility for their mistakes, or make it easier for them to buy substandard boats that could wreak havoc on the environment.”

They breezed into Sam’s office, and Sam reached for his briefcase and began tossing in the few personal items he had. The picture of his father and himself he put carefully on top. He packed up his laptop just as quickly and put on his suit jacket and overcoat. Picking up the briefcase and laptop bag, he turned to face Josh, who was still smiling.

“I wasn’t kidding about your poker face,” Sam teased, but there was a gravity underlying the words that could not be ignored. “Governor Bartlet is the Real Thing?” he asked his friend earnestly.

“Yes,” Josh answered, his eyes shining.

“Josh.”

“Yes,” Josh repeated firmly, gripping Sam’s shoulders in reassurance. “I would never lie to you about this, Sam.”

“Okay,” Sam nodded. They looked at each other a moment as they both absorbed the idea that they were about to jump into the middle of a dream they had shared for years: campaigning for a candidate who would tell the truth, who would acknowledge the difficulties of governing, who would not be afraid to stand up for the Constitution and the separation of church and state, for women’s rights, for public education, for the NEA and NEH, who could be an intelligent, compassionate, liberal leader.  

“Now comes the hard part, you know,” Sam warned Josh when he finally spoke.

Josh set his lips in a firm line, his face suddenly becoming grim. “I know. I have to go back to Washington and resign from Hoynes’ campaign. He’s not going to like that.”

“That’s probably the understatement of the year,” Sam acknowledged. “Just remember, Josh, you have spent months giving him advice that he’s refused to take. That’s not your fault. You’ve found a candidate who will take it, who will fight for our positions without dancing around them.”

Josh hesitated, showing his first trace of uncertainty. “Sam – I have learned from him – I don’t want him to think that I haven’t, or that I don’t respect him.”

“I know,” Sam said, touching his shoulder. “But he has to be willing to learn from you, too, and if he’s not, then he doesn’t value you for the savvy campaigner that you are.”

Josh nodded, and Sam continued, “Besides, talking to Hoynes can’t be any harder than getting through the conversation I have to have with Lisa.” He said it lightly, trying to get Josh to smile, but the older man’s face remained serious as he looked at Sam, taking in the worry in Sam’s eyes, the frown lines above his nose, the tension in his bearing.

“It’s going to be fine, Sam,” Josh tried to reassure him.

Sam shook his head, his face set and tense. “No, it won’t. Lisa and I already had a long discussion about this last night, and I promised her that I wasn’t going anywhere. This isn’t going to be fine at all.”

“Do you want me to stay?” Josh offered. “I can take a later train. I’ll even help you persuade her, if you want.”

“That is an _incredibly_ bad idea,” Sam said, reluctant amusement entering his tone as he thought about the possible repercussions of involving Josh in this particular conversation with Lisa. It would be – well, appalling might be too kind a word for it.

“It is,” Josh admitted ruefully. “But I’ll stay, if you think you’ll want someone to talk to.”

“I will, and it will be you, but you should go to Washington and then get to Nashua,” Sam said resolutely. “Or is the campaign office in Manchester?” he asked, interrupting himself.

“Manchester,” Josh affirmed with a nod.

“All right. Give me a day or two and I’ll be up there with you.” Sam saw the flicker of doubt in Josh’s eyes before his friend could voice it. “I promise, Josh. Just give me long enough to talk to Lisa, straighten out whatever needs to be straightened out here, and pack a bag. Forty-eight hours from now, at the most, I’ll be on hand to meet the Governor. I just walked out on a partnership at the second biggest law firm in New York; I’m not turning back now.”

“Okay,” Josh said, relief filling his face. “You’ll call?”

“As soon as I can,” Sam replied.

Josh’s expression turned solemn again as he studied Sam. “You’re sure you want this? You don’t have to come, Sam. I know you have a life here; I don’t want you to disrupt that unless you’re absolutely sure. I could be wrong, you know.”

Sam smiled. “You never have been before. You wouldn’t be here if you had any doubt about Bartlet, and I know that. I’m in.”

“All right,” Josh said. Sam could see him mentally bracing himself for the conversation with Hoynes that lay ahead; as always, his brain was working with a thousand different puzzle pieces at a time, trying to form a coherent whole.

“Let’s go,” Sam said firmly. He led the way out the door, to the elevator, and punched the button. The two of them were silent on the ride to the first floor, but despite the nervousness they were both feeling, Sam could feel the anticipation and excitement humming in the air as well. He didn’t have words for how it had felt to look up and see Josh’s ecstatic face in the window of the conference room. All he knew was that the wave of joy that engulfed him was more real than anything he had felt in years, that he wanted nothing more than to follow Josh to New Hampshire and whatever lay beyond it. He would do anything for this man standing next to him, anything to make sure that their dreams could finally become reality.

They left the elevator and walked outside together, turning to face each other as Sam reached out and hailed a cab for Josh.

“Two days. I’ll call you,” he reminded Josh, smiling fully again as he let the exhilaration of what they were doing run through him.

“I’ll hold you to it,” Josh told him, returning the smile. “Take it easy.”

“Okay,” Sam said. He lifted his hand in a wave as Josh stepped into the taxi and was gone. He then hailed a taxi for himself and tried to ignore the feeling of dread that settled in his stomach as he gave the driver the address of Lisa’s office building.

* * *

 

Sam walked into the bustling outer offices of _Vanity Fair_ and nodded to the receptionist, navigating his way through the busy hallway back to Lisa’s office. Peering through the window, he saw Lisa engrossed in a phone conversation. As he waited for her to be finished, he attempted to think of something to say that was going to make this easier, simpler. Everything he came up with sounded completely inane.

As Lisa hung up the phone, she looked up and saw him waiting. Her eyebrows rose in surprise, but she smiled and waved at him to come in. Sam pushed open the door to her office, setting down his briefcase and laptop.                                                                                                                      

“Hi there,” she greeted him, looking at him curiously. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d take you to dinner,” Sam said, doing his best to sound nonchalant. It was true, really; he had thought of it in the cab and decided it might be the best way to approach what was sure to be a painful conversation.

“That sounds lovely,” Lisa said appreciatively. “Any particular reason?”

Something was off about her manner, Sam noticed; she was cheerful but preoccupied, and while she was straightening her desk as anyone might do before leaving their office, she seemed apprehensive about something. He tried to focus on her question; he had been dreading trying to explain, but he could answer this particular question honestly. “Some things happened today, but I don’t want to talk about it here. Come to dinner with me?”

“Of course,” Lisa said, her forehead wrinkled in concern. She tugged her coat off the rack in the corner and pulled it on, holding her hand out to him. “Let’s go.”

Without another word, Sam took the hand she offered, picked up his bags in the other hand, and followed as she led him out the door.

* * *

 

Having made their way to one of their favorite restaurants and ordered drinks and food, Sam and Lisa sat in silence, Sam toying absentmindedly with his fork, not having a pen to hand at the moment. Lisa sat observing him for a few minutes before reaching across the table and putting her fingers over his, squeezing gently and stilling the nervous motion.

“Sam, what’s going on? You can tell me,” Lisa said quietly.

Sam glanced up, and what he saw in her face surprised him. There was worry there, yes, but also resignation, maybe even preparation. She knew what was coming, or she thought she did. She had braced herself for it.

Suddenly Sam felt so ashamed of himself he could hardly stand it. He had broken his promise, he had gone and done the very thing he had promised himself and her he wouldn’t do, and he couldn’t own up to it even when Lisa already knew. He opened his mouth to speak, determined to get the worst over with.

“Josh came back today.”

Lisa nodded. “And you told him yes.”

There it was. She had known, had anticipated what he had done. Sam expelled a long breath, sitting back in his chair. “I did.” He turned his hand so that he could link his fingers with hers, tightening his grip.

Lisa smiled wryly. “Well, clearly I’m not all that surprised.”

“You don’t seem to be,” Sam said carefully.

“I’m not,” she reaffirmed, her eyes clear and honest as she regarded him. “I did a lot of thinking last night, Sam. I was awake when you came to bed, but I just needed to sort everything out in my own head before I could say it to you. When we talked last night –”

“More like argued,” Sam interrupted ruefully. “I am sorry about that.”

“Me too,” she admitted. “I could tell how much you wanted this, how hard it was for you to say no. The only thing that made it easier was that it was Hoynes Josh was working for, rather than anyone else. I knew that if Josh came back you would say yes, no matter how much you wanted to refuse for my sake – for our sakes. And the longer I thought about it, the more I realized that I don’t want to be the person holding you back from this. I’ve seen you when you get caught up in politics, Sam – when you and Josh get your heads together in some crazy political scheme. It’s – it’s amazing,” Lisa said, smiling. It was hard for her to manage it, Sam could tell, but she did smile. “I’ve never seen anything like it. You are – you are joyous, and intense, and sure, and righteous, and it always left me in awe, even while it hurt me to see it. You are so complete in that world. I never wanted to admit it, Sam, but politics is where you want to be. I’m sorry I kept you from pursuing it for so long.”

Sam shook his head. “Lisa, you don’t have to be sorry about anything. I’ve never regretted the choices I’ve made since leaving the Hill. They’ve been my choices, and they’ve been good ones. They brought me you,” he said gently, reaching up to brush a hand across her cheek. “How could I be sorry about that?”

Lisa tried to smile again, but her lips quivered, and Sam could tell she was holding back tears. She took a deep breath. “Still, I think I have kept you from taking some paths that you otherwise would have taken, and I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want us to end up hating each other, Sam, and I think it would come to that eventually. This is too important to you, too much a part of you to ask you to give it up. So go to New Hampshire.”

Sam smiled slowly, lightness replacing the dead weight in his chest. “Really?”

“Really,” Lisa nodded.

Sam reached across the table to grab her other hand, wanting her to know everything before she unequivocally endorsed his joining the campaign. “I should tell you the rest. It wasn’t just that I told Josh yes. I already quit at Gage Whitney.”

Lisa’s eyes widened a little; evidently she hadn’t been expecting him to act so precipitously. “Why? You don’t think they would have held the partnership for you?”

“Not after the Kensington meeting today,” Sam said, shaking his head. “I spent most of the meeting trying to convince Kensington to spend eleven million extra dollars on safer boats. I stayed up half the night doing research on U.S. shipping regulations, what fleets were available, and what kind of safety features they ought to have. Jack was on the verge of firing me anyway when Josh showed up, and I just left.”

Unexpectedly, Lisa laughed, and Sam stared at her in surprise, openmouthed. She dissolved into giggles, and it took her a moment to compose herself, but when she met Sam’s eyes again her face was less troubled.

“Oh, Sam, how typically you,” she said, her voice still warm with amusement. “This just confirms that we would drive each other mad. To walk out on a law partnership at Gage Whitney over a fleet of ships and an upstart campaign! Only you could be so impulsive, and the worst of it is that you’ll probably be right. Together, you and Josh have an annoying tendency to pull off the impossible.”

Sam would have smiled, but a chill had abruptly gone through his frame as her comments from the last few minutes registered, as he saw the unspoken intent in her conversation. The waiter brought their food at that moment, and Sam closed his eyes, shaking his head as though trying to dispel what he was seeing.

“It isn’t a permanent thing, you know,” he said, leaning across the table toward her as the waiter left. He was trying to convince himself he was wrong, that he had simply misread what was happening. “We can postpone the wedding. The campaign will be over in six months, and if we’ve made even a halfway decent run I’ll be able to get a job anywhere.”

The sadness returned to Lisa’s eyes as she regarded him. “You don’t really believe that it will be over in six months. Even I don’t believe that, Sam. You are right about Josh, you know. As much as I’ve resented him, I know that he would never come to you with this if he wasn’t sure that it could be a good campaign, even if you don’t win. He may be altogether too smart and arrogant” – and her lips twitched reluctantly as she said it – “but he wouldn’t bring you into this if he thought it had the potential to damage your career. You’ll be able to do other things when this is over, move on to other candidates and other political possibilities. I want you to do this, Sam. I want you to go on this campaign and pour your whole heart and soul into it, with all of that fire and idealism that I know is inside of you. You can’t do that if you’re worrying about me.”

Sam shook his head again, his expression incredulous and hurt. “Lisa, it doesn’t have to be like this! It isn’t an either/or choice; there’s no reason to call off our life just because I’m temporarily part of a campaign!” 

“Yes, there is,” she countered softly. “I meant what I said yesterday evening, too, Sam, and I did a lot of soul searching overnight. You’re going to go work this campaign, and it’s going to be huge, and it’s going to become your whole life – it will _have_ to become your whole life, if you all want even a chance at winning. I know that you’ll do well, but I can’t follow you there, Sam. I don’t love politics the way you do; I understand them, but I don’t love them. I don’t even like them most of the time. You’re going to be spending months going around the country, living in hotel rooms, talking about changing the world, and I’ll be here, writing for my magazine and going to galleries and the latest orchestra season. What on earth would we have left when you came home?”

“This,” Sam said earnestly, gripping her hands. “ _This_. Us. Talking, the way we always do, having the kind of life we’ve always wanted. Why is that so impossible?”

“Even if you do come back, you’ll be different and so will I,” Lisa said. “You’ll meet so many new people; you’ll have a whole new set of goals and dreams. What if the unthinkable happens and your candidate and your team end up in the White House? Our life could suddenly be on hold for another four years, maybe another eight years, and we would have to somehow split our time between D.C. and New York. I can’t face that, Sam. It might be selfish of me, but I can’t.”

Sam sat silently for a few moments. “It’s not selfish,” he said finally, his voice shaking slightly. “You – you deserve to be happy, Lisa. I meant what I said, too. I love you, and I don’t want to lose you, but I need this. I don’t have the words for why I do, but I need this.”

“I know,” Lisa acknowledged. Tears stood at the corners of her eyes as she began to pull off her engagement ring, but Sam stopped her with a quick motion of his hand.

“Don’t,” he said sharply, his voice full of pain. “Keep it. It’s yours; I gave it to you.”

Lisa silently slid the diamond back on her finger.

“I’ll have my things out in a couple of days; I can put them in storage,” Sam said, drawing a ragged breath. His legal mind had ground into gear, thinking about logistics, bills, anything to distract himself from the hurt that was overwhelming him. “Your name is on the lease as well as mine, and I won’t be here; there’s no reason you should have to move.”

 “I thought it might be easier for you to be alone, so I’ll be at my mom’s for a couple of days,” Lisa said quietly. “I called her this afternoon. I’ll see you before you go, though, okay?”

Sam nodded numbly as Lisa stood. She came over to him and leaned down to hug him, pressing her lips to his hair.

“I’m not sure that I was ever the person you needed, Sam Seaborn,” she murmured gently. “I love you, and I know you love me too, or you think you do, but there is so much more out there waiting for you.”

Sam caught her hand as she turned to leave, pressing her palm to his cheek for a brief moment before speaking, his voice choked. “You’ll be all right? You know that if there’s anything –”

“I know,” she said shakily, brushing at the tears that had finally begun to fall down her cheeks. “I’ll be fine. You will be, too,” she finished, giving him a small smile. “Goodbye, Sam.”

“Goodbye,” he whispered.

He sat at their table for hours after she left.

 


	4. Bartlet for America - Washington, D. C.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing belonging to _The West Wing_ ; it all belongs to NBC, Aaron Sorkin, et al. I write these stories purely for enjoyment; no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
>  
> 
> **Author’s Note:** We don’t see very much of the first campaign in the actual series, but the hints about what happened (particularly during the second campaign in Season Three) provide some important dramatic moments for everyone. I wanted to fill in some of those blanks. I always rather wished we could have seen the conversation where Josh leaves Hoynes’ campaign – but I was terribly nervous about trying to write it! I hope this passes muster.

Chapter Three: Bartlet for America – Washington, D. C.

 

_Hoynes: You know something Josh, sometimes I wonder if I’d listened to you two years ago, would I be president right now? Do you ever wonder that?_

_Josh: No, sir, I know it for sure._

_~Episode 1.22, “What Kind of Day Has It Been”_

* * *

_Bartlet: You think the strike against me is nobody likes the smartest kid in the class._

_Toby: I don't know, sir. Being_ _the smartest kid in the class is a pretty good pitch; it's not a strike unless you watch it as it sails by . . . You're a good father, you don't have to act like it. You're the President, you don't have to act like it. You're a good man, you don't have to act like it. You're not just folks_ _, you’re_ _not plain-spoken . . ._ _make this election about smart, and not . . . Make it about engaged,_ _and not. Qualified, and not. Make it about a heavyweight._

_~Episode 3.15, “Hartsfield’s Landing”_

* * *

Josh walked off the train and into Union Station feeling tired and exhilarated all at once. In twenty-four hours he had gone to Nashua and seen a man who was willing to tell the truth to the American public, he had promised his father’s oldest friend and one of the men he respected the most in the world that he would join an improbable but stimulating campaign, and he had made two stops in New York and persuaded his best friend to join him. He had a new job, and the prospect of it thrilled him.

Now he just had to resign from his old one.

Here was where the fatigue came in. He had spent the entire train ride from New York trying to come up with an explanation for Hoynes, something that would make sense to the Senator and be a plausible reason for leaving. The truth was, however, that Hoynes wasn’t going to understand why Josh was leaving because he couldn’t understand Josh’s dissatisfaction to begin with. He couldn’t understand why Josh was pushing him on Social Security, health care, public versus private education, and small farms versus agribusiness. For Hoynes, campaigning was about winning. He tried to appeal to the largest cross-section of voters that he could, but that often meant that his political ideology became diluted until it was almost non-existent, or it existed only when it was convenient and helpful for the campaign. Josh knew that John Hoynes was a politically opinionated man; what frustrated him was the Senator’s refusal to articulate those opinions in a campaign setting.

Resigning from Hoynes’ campaign might be the hardest thing Josh had ever done in his professional life. He was risking everything for a political dream, for an unknown candidate, and for Leo, who was one of the few people who knew him outside the political arena as well as inside it.

He didn’t _want_ to resign from the Hoynes campaign – but after talking to Leo and listening to Jed Bartlet, after seeing Sam and watching his best friend’s face light up with happiness and excitement at the prospect of the Real Thing, staying with Hoynes felt like betraying his own principles. Part of him wished that the Senator would be able to convince him otherwise; he hated to leave a campaign and a candidate once he had committed to them, but Jed Bartlet, Leo, and Toby Ziegler seemed to be everything that John Hoynes and his staffers weren’t. Bartlet for America was the kind of campaign Josh had always wanted to be a part of: honest, intellectually challenging, exciting, unexpected. Bartlet had a long way to go as a candidate, but Josh felt sure, in some unquantifiable, soul-deep way, that the New Hampshire governor could be everything the Democratic Party needed. He lacked that surety about Hoynes, even after months of working with him.

By the time Josh reached the Capitol building, he had managed to mentally compose a letter of resignation. He would type that up first, and then meet with the Senator as soon as he could.

It was not going to be an easy meeting.

* * *

“Have you lost your mind?” the Senator asked him, his voice heavy with sarcasm and disdain.

“Senator –”

“Have you lost your mind?” Hoynes repeated, refusing to let him finish. “Josh, I don’t know where you were yesterday afternoon and this morning, or who you’ve got talking to you, but this is political suicide.”

“I don’t think it is, sir,” Josh said quietly.

“Josh, I _know_ it is!” Hoynes exclaimed. “Look, I’m completely flabbergasted by this. I respect you, I’ve enjoyed working with you, and I don’t understand what’s going on here. After mysteriously disappearing for just over twenty-four hours, you show up with a resignation letter in your hand and tell me that you don’t want to be a part of my campaign, when we both know I’m the presumptive Democratic nominee for President! Can you give me one sensible reason why you suddenly want to resign from a job that will ultimately make you a part of the White House staff?”

“I don’t want to resign, sir,” Josh said.

“Then why are we having this discussion?”

“Senator, you haven’t given me a reason to stay,” Josh said, wincing internally at his own words. He liked John Hoynes, and he didn’t mean to be hurtful, but if there was ever a time to be absolutely honest with the Senator, this was it.

“So this is about ego?” the Senator said angrily. “I don’t follow your advice often enough for your liking, so you’re resigning?”

“No, Senator, this is _not_ about ego,” Josh said, his own voice rising. “It isn’t nearly that simple. I don’t want you to follow my advice constantly; I want you to have a vision, and I want you to convey that vision to the voters. I want to know what policy positions you’re advocating, and trust me when I tell you that the American people want to know that, too. If I’m going to be on your staff, then I want to know what goals I’ll be working toward, and the voters want to know what their President will be fighting for. I don’t know that right now, and I don’t want to go through an entire presidential campaign without knowing it.”

“I fight for plenty of legislation and policy initiatives, Josh, and I plan to fight for plenty more in the Oval Office,” Hoynes said curtly.

Josh studied him for a moment, narrowing his eyes just a bit. “Senator, do you want to see Social Security continue?”

“Damn it, Josh, we’ve been through this!”  Hoynes said angrily. “You know what Social Security does to a campaign –”

“Just answer the question,” Josh pressed, raising his voice. “Do you feel that the Social Security program needs to continue in order to support our senior citizens?”

“Of course I do, but we haven’t figured out a way to –”

“All right,” Josh cut in. “Do you feel that public schools are crucial institutions that provide education to all kinds of students who might otherwise be deprived of the opportunity to learn?”

Hoynes sighed, struggling to keep a grip on his patience. “Yes, but there also needs to be choice for both parents and students, particularly in poorer areas. Vouchers can help us achieve that.”

“Which is an answer that isn’t the standard Democratic party line, but that would play well with swing voters and in the South,” Josh said. “What about big oil?”

“I’m from Texas, Josh, we rely on oil companies for our economy,” Hoynes said, the sarcasm returning momentarily. “Oil is a viable and important fuel source, but we need to make sure that oil production isn’t harmful to the environment. That’s part of our responsibility.”

“I have never heard you thoroughly articulate any of those positions at a campaign rally, during a speech, or in a television interview,” Josh said pointedly.

Hoynes stared at him, taken aback. “Yes, I have.”

“No you haven’t, sir –”

“Yes, I have –”

“No, Senator, you haven’t!” Josh argued, determined to make his point. “You make those arguments on the Senate floor, but when you’re campaigning you go for the easy sell, the biggest win, the largest number of voters and the most flexible position. You talk about your family, about Southern hospitality, about your love of professional sports and religious community, and then when someone says, ‘What about Social Security?’ you give them the easy answer. ‘It’s important support for our seniors, but it’s a difficult problem to fix.’ Tell me how we’re going to fix it. Tell the voters how we’re going to fix it. Give them options. Convince the voters out there that you have the answers, instead of never giving any answers at all!”

 “Josh, I don’t know how we’re going to fix it,” Hoynes said, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “No one does.”

“You have ideas about how to fix it, and so do a lot of economic experts,” Josh disagreed. “The problem with fixing Social Security isn’t fixing it; it’s selling the fix to Congress and the American people. _Sell it_. I don’t agree with you about vouchers; a lot of Democrats don’t. On the other hand, you could bring in a whole bunch of independents and moderate Republicans by proposing some kind of compromise plan that would make vouchers available to lower income families.”

“I would also be eviscerated by the left wing of my own party,” Hoynes retorted.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about!” Josh said, throwing his hands up in frustration. “You want to win this election by pleasing everyone, which is impossible! I want to work for someone who will tell the truth about their own political positions and those of the Democratic Party! Senator, you won’t win this election by refusing to take sides. You have to land somewhere on these issues. You are a smart man with very clear ideas about how we need to run the country, and yet on the campaign trail you refuse to stand up for those ideas and argue them until the voters agree with you!”

“You don’t win elections by acting as though you’re smarter than everybody else,” Hoynes said, shaking his head.

“Sir, it _is_ about being smart. It’s – it’s about being qualified, and honest, and having a political position that you’ll fight for,” Josh said earnestly, his voice falling with frustration and disappointment.

Hoynes shook his head. “We aren’t going to agree on this, Josh. I’ve got a whole campaign team telling me how to run this thing, and you’re the only one who seems to have any problem with the strategy. I respect you and your political skills a lot, but I’m going to run this campaign in whatever way gives me the best shot at winning.”

Josh gave a brief nod, his face clearing suddenly as his mental conflict resolved. The decision he had made in New Hampshire was the right one; he respected John Hoynes as a man but not as a politician, and that was a recipe for disaster within a presidential race. “This is why I can’t work for you, sir. We can’t spend a whole campaign disagreeing; it isn’t going to help your campaign. I can’t be at my best while I’m working for you if I fundamentally disagree with the strategy you’re following.”

Hoynes nodded slowly in return. “I understand.” He held out his hand, and Josh reached inside his lapel and pulled out the white envelope that contained his resignation, placing it on the desk. Hoynes stretched out his hand. “I’m sorry to lose you, Josh. I’ll keep you in mind if we win the election.”

Josh shook the Senator’s hand cordially. “I appreciate that, sir. Thank you.” He turned to go, but before he reached the door Hoynes spoke again.

“Josh, who does agree with your strategy?” the Senator asked seriously.

Josh turned around. Hoynes would know soon enough; there was no point in withholding the information he was asking for. He smiled slowly. “Leo McGarry. And he’s pretty sure that Governor Jed Bartlet will agree with it too.”

Hoynes took that in. “Thank you, Josh. Good luck.”

“You too, sir,” Josh answered before turning firmly and walking out the door.

He breathed a little easier after he left the Capitol building, and once he was outside his heart began to race with excitement. He had made the right decision, and although he had been fairly sure of it ever since he had heard Governor Bartlet speak, his conversation with Hoynes had illuminated every reason why he had chosen this new race, why Leo had chosen Bartlet as a candidate.

He pulled out his cell phone. He had two important phone calls to make. The first was to Leo; once Josh made it to his apartment and packed a bag, he would be on his way back to New Hampshire. The second was to his father. Joining the Bartlet campaign was something he was sure his father would be happy about, and anything Josh could do to make his father’s days a little happier right now was worth the effort.

He was on a new path, and he had never felt better in his life than he did in this moment.

 


	5. Bartlet for America - Manchester I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing belonging to The West Wing; it all belongs to NBC, Aaron Sorkin, et al. I write these stories purely for enjoyment; no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> **Author’s Note:** All right, people, we needed a little levity and banter in this story, and I’m hoping this chapter will provide it.

Chapter Four: Bartlet for America - Manchester

The morning Sam arrived at the campaign office in Manchester, his eyes were gritty, his head was aching, and his body was crying out for some sleep. The last two days had felt like two years.

After he and Lisa had parted ways at the restaurant, it had taken Sam hours to work up the courage to go back to their apartment. Their unexpected breakup had left him reeling with hurt and confusion, and seeing their dark apartment without Lisa in it would make everything too real. Of all the scenarios he had imagined would result from joining Josh’s campaign, this one had been almost unthinkable, shoved to the darkest corner of his mind the minute it presented itself. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that campaigning would mean the end of his relationship with Lisa; they were stronger than that. They had met while he was a congressional aide for Thompson; they had stayed together through what remained of his stint on the Hill; they kept going when they moved to New York and both started highly demanding jobs. Why did a political campaign turn all of that history and fortitude upside down?

_Because Lisa is right_ , Sam acknowledged silently for what must have been the thousandth time. _Because a presidential campaign takes up every minute of every day, demands it. If she doesn’t feel that she can be a part of that, then our relationship would have crumbled sooner or later. Maybe sooner is easier on both of us._

When he entered the apartment he had paused, looking around at all of their possessions mingled together. The numbness that had enveloped him at the restaurant began to dissipate, allowing pain to knife through him, but he had set his jaw firmly and pushed the emotions back. What remained of the night had been spent packing, starting with a suitcase for the campaign. The next day he had arranged for storage, hired movers, and turned in a formal resignation letter at Gage Whitney, as well as saying goodbye to Caroline and leaving her with a glowing recommendation letter. He bought boxes and carefully labeled every carton as he filled it, although there was surprisingly little that he could not live without. His books and clothing took up by far the largest number of cartons; the rest was photographs, letters, and a few mementos. There were a few framed items, like the flag Josh had bought him when he left D.C. and his law degree.

He had slept for a few hours that night out of sheer exhaustion, but both his mind and body were restless and he woke early. The second day he had supervised the movers as they took his furniture, books, and the clothing he didn’t need out of the apartment and loaded them into a truck. He rode with them and made sure that everything was unloaded and locked up. Finally, he had called Lisa, and they had arranged a late dinner – but Sam could not think of that, yet. He had taken a cab to LaGuardia with his one remaining suitcase and caught a red-eye flight.

So here he was, in Manchester at dawn, exhausted and heartsore but still feeling the tugging need that had compelled him to follow Josh. Sam rubbed his hands over his face and contemplated the storefront that held the Bartlet for America office. It was plain and unpretentious, temporary, as all campaign offices were. A few campaign posters in the windows were all that identified it. Glancing around, though, Sam had to acknowledge that it was in the middle of a beautiful New England town. He hoped fervently that here, in this small little place where he was helping his best friend run an idealistic, unlikely campaign, he could find a way to rebuild his life.

Just then he caught sight of Josh through the window, and on impulse he stepped forward and rapped on the glass, the corners of his mouth barely turning upward. Josh looked up, gave a whoop of excitement, and was out the front door in a flash.

“Sam!” he exclaimed, hugging his friend and pounding him on the back. “I didn’t think you would be here this early!”

“Working around the clock to get out of a place will do that,” Sam said with a tired smile. “I didn’t have much incentive to stay anymore.”

Josh stopped and looked at him then, taking in his friend’s haggard appearance, the five o’clock shadow that would never normally be visible, the bags under Sam’s dry and bloodshot eyes.

“You look awful,” he said bluntly, startled into the admission before he could hold his tongue.

“Thanks,” Sam said wryly.

“What happened?” Josh asked worriedly.

“Lisa ended our engagement,” Sam replied wearily. “I told her I wanted to work the campaign, and she agreed that I should, but she ended our engagement.”

“Are you kidding?” Josh said incredulously. “She ended your engagement over a campaign?”

“It wasn’t exactly like that,” Sam said. “She was right. It would have driven us apart one way or another.”

“No, it wouldn’t!” Josh said indignantly. “It’s a campaign, Sam, not a lifelong career change!”

“You don’t know that,” Sam reminded him. “You don’t believe it, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“I could be wrong,” Josh said, and Sam smiled more fully at the tone that was unmistakably Josh; he was arguing for the sake of arguing now, and not because he really doubted his own judgment. “We could all be jobless in six months; I could have no future in politics; you could be back to New York and a new corporate law firm inside of a year.”

“A new corporate law firm that would provide me with the same miserable, unfulfilling work I was doing at Gage Whitney,” Sam returned dryly. “That sounds like a great idea.”

“She’ll take you back, if I’m wrong,” Josh said, his voice half command and half persuasion.

“I don’t know that she will,” Sam said softly. “I don’t know that I would even try. I love her, Josh, but we were hurting each other in ways that I didn’t even see until this campaign came up.”

“I don’t believe this,” Josh said, shaking his head. “Sam, I’m – I’m so sorry. I never would have asked this of you if I thought . . .”

“You asked and I said yes. It was my choice,” Sam told him firmly. “I promised, and I’m here, and I intend to stay. Just please give me a chance to shower and change before I have to meet everyone,” he added.

“I’ll take you over to the hotel,” Josh offered immediately. “You can even sleep for a couple of hours if it would help; we’re not having a full staff meeting until lunch.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

 “Okay,” Josh said, silently promising himself that he was going to get the whole story of the last two days out of Sam. He didn’t want to push too hard right this minute, but Sam didn’t do well when he internalized his troubles, and something as devastating as breaking up with Lisa was not to be trifled with. It was awful to see Sam like this, and the worst of it was that he felt responsible. “I’ll walk over with you. Just give me a minute to tell someone.”

Sam nodded in agreement, and Josh walked back inside, hurrying over to C.J. Cregg. He didn’t know anything about her yet other than her name, but she was tall, efficient, and intimidating, which so far had kept him from getting too close. She was beautiful and scary.

C. J. was on the phone when he approached, but she hung up quickly and turned to him, raising an inquiring eyebrow.

“C. J., could you please tell Leo that I’m walking Sam to the hotel and I’ll be back in a few minutes?” Josh requested.

“Okay,” C. J. replied. “Who’s Sam?”

“He’ll know,” Josh said. “Just tell him.”

“Okay,” C. J. answered. She watched as Josh went back outside and caught a glimpse of a dark-haired man in an overcoat before the two of them began walking down the street. When she had met Josh Lyman yesterday, her overwhelming impression had been one of energy and intelligence overlaid with both humor and cockiness. While her PR antennae had begun quivering almost instantly with the knowledge that here was a man who was definitely _not_ supposed to be in front of the press, she was sure that he would put everything he had into the campaign. Josh Lyman was well known in Democratic Party circles already; his joining the Bartlet campaign had been a shock to almost everyone who had spoken with the press. While most passed it off as an ambitious attempt at a convention coup, C. J. sensed something honorable in Josh that she could not quite put her finger on yet. She saw the way he interacted with Leo McGarry; there was a level of respect there that went far beyond professional courtesy.

Now another man named Sam was coming out of nowhere to campaign for Bartlet. Her curiosity was piqued.

She went over to the room that Leo was using as a combination office and war room, meeting with varying members of the staff and Governor Bartlet to discuss scheduling and strategy. Leo was sitting at his desk paging through what looked like polling data. C. J. lifted her hand and rapped on the door to announce herself.

“What do you need, C. J.?” Leo asked as he lifted his head up, giving her a quick smile.

“Josh wanted me to tell you that he’s walking Sam over to the hotel and he’ll be back in a few minutes,” C. J. told him.

“Great,” Leo said. “Thank you.”

C. J. waited for a moment, and when no further information was forthcoming, she tried again.

“Mr. McGarry?” she asked.

“Leo,” Leo corrected her automatically, without looking up.

“Leo,” C. J. said, flushing a little at the correction but smiling appreciatively. “Who exactly is Sam?”

Leo raised his head again, seeming surprised. “Sam is Sam Seaborn,” he said, as though it should be utterly obvious. “He was a congressional aide for Thompson and is an old friend of Josh’s.”

“And what exactly will he be doing?” C. J. inquired, praying silently that she wasn’t pressing her luck.

“Speechwriting,” Leo said briefly.

“I know him, I think, or know of him,” C. J. mused aloud. “He was good.” A gleam of excitement lit her eyes as she recalled half-remembered snippets of speeches and broadcast sound bites that had come across her desk when she was still working state campaigns.”If he’s a match for Toby we’re going to have some incredible speeches to work with.”

“I hope so,” Leo said. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you done giving me the third degree?”

“Yes sir,” C. J. said apologetically.

Leo’s face softened into a smile. “Good. Can I go back to running the campaign now?”

“Yes sir,” C. J. replied again, and she smiled back at him before leaving. As she walked back to her desk to finish a press release, she imagined Toby’s reaction to their new staff member, and her grin grew as wide as the Cheshire Cat’s. _This is definitely going to be fun_ , she thought to herself.

* * *

“He did what?” Toby asked, the quietness of his voice belying the glint of combat in his eye.

“Josh brought you a partner,” Leo said calmly.

“And just what made Josh Lyman think that I needed a speechwriting partner?” Toby said, his voice rising only slightly but increasing markedly in intensity.

“Josh didn’t think you needed a speechwriting partner; I did,” Leo said bluntly. “Josh brought us a friend of his who was a congressional aide and writer for Thompson, a lawyer who was a month away from a partnership at Gage Whitney, and a guy who has considerable experience in opposition research, which are all things we could use around here right now.”

“I don’t care if he can negotiate the Treaty of Versailles, Leo; the last thing I need is to spend my time correcting the mistakes of a speechwriting amateur!” Toby shouted, his temper finally breaking loose. “As if it isn’t bad enough that there aren’t enough hours in the day to write all of the speeches we need for campaign appearances! I’m supposed to take _more_ hours to correct split infinitives and politically disastrous analogies?”

“Sam Seaborn is hardly an amateur, and the whole point of having another writer on staff is for you to divide your work, not to create more work for yourself,” Leo said firmly. “Have you even read any of his writing?”

“I don’t need to read any of his writing to know that it will be clichéd, sophomoric, and full of too many adjectives,” Toby said crossly.

“Toby, Josh was originally going to bring Sam on for Hoynes’ campaign; do you think he would allow Hoynes to be giving clichéd speeches?” Leo said in exasperation.

That got Toby’s attention. “Josh told you that?” he asked in surprise.

“He didn’t have to,” Leo said calmly. “Josh is good, and he would never bring anyone on a campaign who isn’t as good as he is. He was working for Hoynes, and if he believes in Sam Seaborn enough to bring him on board, then Sam is good enough to be working for Hoynes, too.”

“I would like to think,” Toby said slowly, “that the people working this campaign are better than the people who are working for Hoynes, just as I think that Jed Bartlet is a better candidate than John Hoynes.”

“Then accept your own assessment and believe that both Josh and Sam are better than the people working Hoynes’ campaign.”

“The problem with my assessment is that I don’t know Josh or Sam well enough yet to know anything,” Toby says. “For the moment, I’ll take your assessment over my own, especially when it comes to Josh.”

“Good,” Leo nodded. “When it comes to Sam, make sure you’ve read some of his work before he comes to the staff meeting.”

“Yeah,” Toby conceded.

Leo headed back toward his office, and Toby had just pulled a sheaf of papers toward him that contained some of the new guy’s speeches, when a tall figure sat itself on the desk.

“So, you have a new partner?” C. J. said nonchalantly.

Toby glanced up at her and caught the mischief in her eyes, even though her voice was perfectly casual.

“That remains to be seen,” he retorted.

“What remains to be seen is how long it will take him to run away screaming,” C. J. said with a laugh. “I’ve seen what you do to your prospective speechwriting partners.”

“ _You_ are still here, despite all my efforts to achieve your retreat.”

“I may technically _work_ for you, but I don’t have to _write_ for you or with you,” C. J. countered, laughing harder. “I would miss your sunny disposition, Toby, honestly I would. What would I do without your smile every morning?”

“Get away from me,” Toby commanded, giving a halfhearted wave with the papers in his hand.

C. J. smiled and stood. “Be nice to him, Toby. He’s good. I remember seeing some of the things he wrote for Thompson, and Josh says he’s good.  He can help you.”

“We don’t know how good Josh is yet,” Toby grumbled. “We’ll see. What do you know about Sam Seaborn?”

C. J. shook her head in response. “I don’t know any more than you do, Toby. Josh recruited Sam to do speechwriting; Sam was an up-and-comer at Gage Whitney Pace and before that he was a congressional aide for Thompson. I assume that is when he and Josh met, although that’s just a theory at this point, and I also assume that whatever Sam did for Thompson was good enough that it got Josh’s attention. I remember seeing a few snippets of speeches that Sam wrote, and they were extremely good, but he would have had to do more than that to earn Josh’s respect.”

“Right,” Toby nodded. “But you have no recollection of what “more” might have entailed?”

“None,” C. J. said, shaking her head. “I’ve tried to come up with it, Toby, really I have, but congressional aides do a lot of things, and I was working state campaigns in districts with open seats. Thompson has held his seat for years, and so most of the time I wasn’t paying any attention to him at all. It’s amazing to me that I remember some of the things this Sam wrote; that alone ought to tell you something about how good he is. I don’t know what else he might have done; you’d have to ask Josh, or ask Sam himself.”

“I don’t want an answer from someone who is trying to impress me, C. J.,” Toby said brusquely

“Then ask Josh,” C. J. returned. “And anyway, how do you know that Sam Seaborn will try to impress you?”

“Everyone who works for me tries to impress me, until they realize that it fails miserably and the more they try, the more I dislike them,” Toby retorted.

“Somehow I get the impression that Sam Seaborn isn’t ‘everyone’” C. J. said. “I saw him briefly when Josh took him over to the hotel; he’s very distinguished looking.”

Toby cocked an eyebrow at her. “Did you actually speak to him?”

“No.”

“Was he actually standing in this campaign office?”

“No. I saw him through the window when he arrived.”

“C. J., you saw someone for two seconds through a window and you think you received an accurate impression of him?” Toby questioned disdainfully.

Just then, Josh and Sam came through the door, both of them grinning and bundled up against the autumn chill. Sam’s dark hair was a little windblown, and as he pulled off his overcoat C. J. almost gaped at the trim body framed by an incredibly expensive suit, topped with eyes the color of the sky and a smile that looked like its owner never so much as drank a cup of coffee. Luckily, she managed to keep her face bland as Toby turned back to her, eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“See? Distinguished,” she said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.

“He looks like an intern,” Toby said scornfully, although thankfully it was low enough that only she could hear. “What is he, twenty?”

“You don’t make partner at Gage Whitney at twenty, Tobus, and despite your sarcasm about his looks, I haven’t heard one rude comment about his writing come from your mouth yet,” C. J. replied archly.

“Oh, believe me, you will hear plenty,” Toby promised her darkly.

“I have a release to finish before the meeting, but shout if you need me,” C. J. said warmly.

“Do I summon people any other way?”

C. J. smiled to herself all the way back to her desk. As irascible as Toby often was, he had a heart of gold. She knew that if Sam Seaborn was as good a writer as she thought, Toby would have no problem accepting his writing. The question was whether their personalities would allow them to work together, and she hoped so. Toby needed someone to take some of the burden off of his shoulders; he was doing the work of two people right now and going crazy.

Watching the first encounter between Toby and Sam Seaborn was quite possibly going to be the highlight of her day.

* * *

C. J. had finished up her briefing notes and had been amusing herself by watching the conversation between Leo and the Governor; sometimes facial expressions alone were even more eloquent than words. The next campaign speeches were in Concord, NH, and whatever aspect of those appearances they were discussing, Leo was trying to coax the Governor to agree with him. Bartlet looked particularly annoyed, although C. J. thought that he was on the edge of reluctantly conceding to Leo’s proposal.

Toby came over to her desk then, having spent twenty minutes looking over Sam’s speeches. Leo and Governor Bartlet finished their conversation, and Leo came to the center of the room. “All right, people, let’s get this meeting going,” he called. C. J. stood up and walked around her desk, and Toby took the edge of her desk as a seat. Josh and Sam emerged from Josh’s office and formed an arc with Leo and the Governor. With Toby and C. J. sharing the desk, the six of them formed a rough full circle.

“First of all, I’d like to introduce the newest member of the staff,” Leo said, diving right into the business at hand. He gestured to Sam, who had ended up standing to Leo’s left with Josh on his other side. “This is Sam Seaborn, formerly of Gage Whitney Pace and Congressman Thompson’s office. He’s going to be doing some speechwriting with Toby. Sam, this is Governor Bartlet.”

“Good to meet you, Sam,” the Governor said affably, shaking hands, and C. J. privately breathed a sigh of relief that the Governor still seemed to be in a good mood; discussions with Leo often left him irritated and short-tempered. When he was more relaxed and friendly, however, C. J. had glimpsed a man of almost awe-inspiring intelligence and compassion. She couldn’t believe in him wholeheartedly, not yet – but she _wanted_ to, and that meant a great deal. This campaign was giving her the first stirrings of hope and true happiness that she had felt in a long time.

“It’s good to meet you, Governor,” Sam responded. “I’m very glad to be here.”

“Thank you. I hope you can do good work for us, Sam,” Bartlet said encouragingly.

“I hope so, too, sir,” Sam said earnestly, and C. J. found herself drawn to this young man from New York. Something in the lawyer’s eyes told her that he needed something to believe in as much as she did. Bartlet nodded in acknowledgement to Sam, smiling politely.  

“And this is Toby Zielgler and C. J. Cregg,” Leo said, continuing the introductions. “Toby is our Communications Director, and C. J. is our Press Secretary.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” C. J. said, holding out her hand and giving Sam a winning smile.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Sam replied cordially, smiling back in a relaxed, friendly way. C. J. thought she detected just a touch of nervousness in Sam’s eyes, but he hid it well, and no one who hadn’t been looking for it would have seen it.

Unfortunately for him, he turned to Toby next. “Sam Seaborn,” he said, offering his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Ziegler; I’ve admired your work for a long time.”

“Well, I can’t say the same, as I’ve just read your work today,” Toby replied coolly, giving Sam’s hand a brief shake.

“Did you like it?” Sam asked hopefully, and C. J. almost laughed aloud.

“I did not,” Toby said bluntly. “I was entirely right in my supposition that there would be too many adjectives and too much idealism, although you did somehow manage to avoid clichés.”

“Okay,” Sam said, looking nonplussed for a moment before he continued. “Since you have a tendency to leave out description altogether and be entirely too ostentatious, let’s see if we can help each other out, shall we?”

Everyone else was grinning now, and Toby glared at all of them before turning his eyes back to Sam. “Just remember that you work for me, and that I am capable of squashing you like a _bug_ should I choose to.”

Sam almost opened his mouth to argue, but something in Toby’s face warned him not to go down that particular path. Instead, he simply nodded. “Absolutely.”

Leo joined in the chuckling that was coming from the rest of the staff, and gave a decisive nod. “Great, now that everyone is introduced and intimidated, let’s talk about some strategy. Josh, will you bring us up to date?”

As Josh began to speak, C. J. flipped open her notepad and quickly scribbled a sentence, moving the pad slightly so that Sam could see it from where he stood to her left.

_Don’t worry. You’re going to be just fine._

Sam raised his eyebrows and looked over at her, smiling hesitantly this time, and C. J. gave him a warm smile and a quick wink in return before they both turned their attention back to Josh. Out of the corner of her eye, C. J. saw Sam’s shoulders relax, and she knew that she had just managed to begin a lovely new friendship.


	6. Bartlet for America - Manchester II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing belonging to _The West Wing_ ; it all belongs to NBC, Aaron Sorkin, et al. I write these stories purely for enjoyment; no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> **Author’s Note:** I hadn’t intended to have a “Manchester, Part I” and Manchester, Part II” for the first campaign, but it has turned out that way, and there does seem to be a nice sort of symmetry about it. After all, if Manchester took two installments for the second campaign, it stands to reason that it should take at least two for the first campaign, right? (However, it looks like this stay in Manchester is going to be considerably longer than two chapters….) Also, “Hampton” is apparently an English and Scottish name, hence my little invention of Mandy’s ancestry.

Chapter Five: Bartlet for America – Manchester, Part Two

 

Much later that night, after a long staff strategy session and an even longer orientation with Toby concerning all the speeches that were needed for the Governor in the next few weeks, Sam was just about to collapse on the bed of his hotel room when he heard a knock at the door. Groaning silently, he went to answer it, hoping that Toby or Leo didn’t want him for yet another discussion – at least not for another six hours.

He swung the door open to find Josh waiting behind it, grinning widely and holding two beers in his hand.

“Thank God,” Sam said tiredly. “I was afraid Toby was stopping by to pick my writing to pieces for the seventh time tonight. Come in.”

Josh chuckled as he walked past Sam, and turned around as he moved toward the two chairs in the room. “You were _fantastic_ with those introductions today,” he said, gesturing with the bottles. “I have never seen Toby get bested on the first try. You’re going to be fine.”

“That’s what C. J. said,” Sam sighed, taking one bottle from Josh and flopping into a chair. He leaned his head back and took a sip, feeling a bit of the tension leave his body.

“When did she say that?” Josh asked curiously.

“Well, she wrote it, actually, right after I complimented Toby and then insulted him,” Sam said. “One minute I thought my life was over, and the next the tall, scary press secretary is winking at me like I’ve just discovered the secret handshake.”

Josh laughed out loud then. “You did. Going toe-to-toe with Toby on the first encounter was the best thing you could have done; he knows you aren’t afraid of him and he’ll respect you for it, no matter how grouchy he gets. I don’t know him that well, but I know him well enough to know that.”

“Too much idealism,” Sam grumbled. “Because being cynical, sanctimonious, and cantankerous gets you so much further with the American public.”

Josh shook his head in amusement. “You are the only person I know besides Toby who can speak with a vocabulary like that and make it sound normal.”

“Oh, thanks!” Sam exclaimed indignantly, but he raised his head and smiled as he spoke, and Josh knew he wasn’t angry.  

Josh rolled his beer bottle between his hands, trying to think of a way to bring up the subject of Lisa that wasn’t going to be too hurtful to Sam – but he knew that was probably impossible. Sam and Lisa had been together six years; they had lived together, moved together and been engaged. One didn’t get over that kind of relationship easily, if ever. He could only be an ear if Sam needed one, and knowing his best friend, Sam desperately needed to talk about this. In the end, he took a swig of his beer and simply waded in.

“Sam, what happened with Lisa?”

To Josh’s surprise, Sam gave a small snort of amusement. “Well, that was subtle.”

“Yeah, well…subtlety’s never been my strong point. Nuance, yes. Subtlety, no.”

“Truer words were never spoken. And speaking of vocabulary, it’s impressive that you understand the distinction between nuance and subtlety. It’s a difficult thing to explain…”

“Sam,” Josh said, preempting the scholarly ramble with a knowing look.

 “Do we have to talk about this? It’s one o’clock in the morning, Josh.” Sam was sure that Josh would provide a sympathetic ear, but part of him wanted to push away all memory of the last forty-eight hours. He was so tired, and thinking more about Lisa was the last thing he wanted to do. However, eleven years had taught him that his best friend was nothing if not persistent.

“You’ll feel better if you do,” Josh said quietly. “Besides, we always did our best talking and thinking at one o’clock in the morning, over pizza and salad.”

“Salad for me, pizza for you,” Sam remembered, his lips twitching.

“Yeah,” Josh said, smiling a bit in return.

Sam sighed, stood up, and began to pace, taking another drink as he tried to figure out where to begin. “When I left the Hill, it felt like the right thing to do. I wanted to go to New York, be a lawyer, and be with Lisa. She had landed this great job at _Vanity Fair_ , and I had a good offer from Gage Whitney. I knew I would miss politics, but I thought law was enough. It was enough, for a while. She did well, we were happy. I enjoyed my job at first, meeting lots of new people, new clients, helping people wade through the legal mess to do some good things."

“You did write, you know,” Josh reminded him, teasing. “I remember.”

Sam looked a little sheepish and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Anyway, the further I went up the ladder, the uglier it got. Corporate loopholes and tax breaks, liability clauses – things that let huge corporations get away with murder and avoid responsibility for the effects of their business practices. I didn’t like what I was doing, and I don’t think I _realized_ that until you showed up. I missed that feeling we used to have on the Hill, when we helped accomplish something that would help a lot of people.”

“You did some very good things for individual people,” Josh noted.

“I did,” Sam nodded. “Lisa said that, too. It’s true – but by the end I didn’t feel as though the good outweighed the bad anymore.”

“You talked less and less about work the longer you were in New York,” Josh observed softly.

“Work didn’t make me happy. Lisa did,” Sam said carefully, trying not to let his voice crack. “I didn’t…I didn’t realize how much my job was affecting me.”

“But Lisa was proud of you for what you were doing?” Josh guessed.

“Always,” Sam nodded. “She thought I was doing good work, being successful…and I was, I suppose. Our life made me happy, and my job was a part of our life, so that seemed…right. But then you showed up, and everything I _wasn’t_ doing with my life suddenly became crystal clear.”

“Sam…” Josh sighed, opening his mouth, but Sam silenced him by lifting one finger and giving a small shake of his head.

“Don’t. Don’t do that. I’m not blaming you. I’m saying that you showed up talking about some crazy candidate in New Hampshire, and you made me remember everything I used to love about what we did, everything I was missing by not being part of political campaigns and not fighting for the things that really mean something. I went into a meeting with Kensington Oil and tried to persuade them to do the right thing because you reminded me of what I used to believe in. I couldn’t persuade them, but I tried every argument I had, and I felt better doing it than I’ve felt at any time in the last four years.” He paused. “Except when Lisa said she would marry me,” he added, his voice low. He didn’t quite manage to keep the crack out of it this time.

Josh winced as Sam took another swallow of beer, sitting back down again. “So the conversation you had with Lisa after I left…it went as badly as you thought it would?” he asked awkwardly.

Sam gave a short, sardonic laugh. “No, actually. Not badly at all aside from the fact that she ended our relationship. She knew I was going to say yes to this campaign. She was perfectly understanding about it – probably more understanding that I deserved, really – and she knew that I needed this and wanted it, and that I wasn’t happy. She was also perfectly open about the fact that my joining a presidential campaign would make her miserable – if not in the short run, then in the long run, because we’d be living two utterly different lives and quite possibly be in two different cities indefinitely. I can’t blame her for that,” he sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “It isn’t fair to ask her to do this, too, when it isn’t what she wants.”

“But – God, Sam, you don’t just walk out on a six-year relationship,” Josh sputtered. “I know that campaigning isn’t easy, but it isn’t impossible to have a long-term relationship and be part of a campaign – look at Leo and his wife Jenny; they’ve been together for decades.”

Sam shook his head. “Not everyone is the same, Josh. And Lisa didn’t walk out – or if she did, maybe we both did. I made this choice, even though I had promised her I wouldn’t, and she decided that she couldn’t be a part of that choice.”

It was Josh’s turn to run his hands over his face and through his hair, guilt written all over his features. “So I’ve pulled you out of a miserable existence at Gage Whitney only to have you plunge into another miserable existence without your fiancée. That’s…great.” He rose, going to the window, and Sam saw the tense set of his shoulders that gave away the turmoil of his thoughts. He spoke to Josh’s back, thoughtfully, measuring each word.

“The strange thing is, there’s a part of me that’s not sorry at all. I saw her over coffee, last night – we wanted to see each other before I left, and I needed to give her my keys and some paperwork for the apartment – and part of me felt as though I would never be happy again, but some other part of me felt as though I could breathe for the first time in ages. We were both crying, and it hurts almost more than I can bear – but I think we both knew it was the right thing to do. I couldn’t make her happy, Josh. I could fit into the life she wants, with an uptown Manhattan apartment and a lawyer husband. I could even be content in it, with her – but the part of me that loves this, wants this, wants to change the country and the world and be making a difference, would be starving. Lisa knows that.”

Sam came and stood next to Josh at the window, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Josh. You do not get to feel guilty about this. You came to New York two days ago and reminded me who I am, who I want to be. That’s a gift, and it’s one that I’m grateful for.” 

Josh looked at him steadily for a long minute, the guilt still hovering on his face, but under Sam’s reassuring gaze the guilt faded, replaced slowly by acceptance, until eventually he nodded. “Okay. But I’m going to make it worth it, Sam.”

“Deal,” Sam concurred. “Now can we stop talking about me and talk about you?”

Josh studied his friend. Sam was doing his best to be cheerful, but he was clearly exhausted in just about every way possible. The fatigue that had been so evident this morning had returned, and underneath the forced joviality, Sam’s eyes were pleading with him to lay this subject to rest. So, he took the bait Sam had offered and grinned. “Sure,” he said flippantly. “What do you want to know about the honorable Josh Lyman, Esquire?”

His quip worked. Sam raised an eyebrow, grinning in return. “‘Esquire’ might be exaggerating things a bit.”

“I have a law degree!” Josh protested.

“Which you’ve never used,” Sam pointed out.

“I work in politics; I still have to know the law,” Josh argued.

“Knowing the law and actually practicing it are two different things,” Sam returned.

“I’ll have you know that I practice the law every single day,” Josh said indignantly.

“By obeying the street signs, you mean? Or buckling your seat belt? When was the last time you actually wrote a brief? At Yale?” Sam teased.

“No,” Josh scoffed, but he looked down, and Sam stared at him incredulously.

“Not really at Yale. Seriously?”

 “Okay, fine, I’m a politician,” Josh caved in.

“You’re a campaign director for a politician,” Sam corrected him, “which makes you almost a politician, but not quite.”

“That’s a real ego-booster, Sam.”

“Any time,” Sam said, smiling again. He rose to grab a second round of beers from his own little refrigerator, and pulled out a bottle opener from somewhere in his suitcase, which caused Josh to shake his head. Sam really was absurdly prepared for anything, most of the time.

“So do you have any life outside of presidential campaigns, or shouldn’t I even bother asking?” Sam asked as he moved around the room.

“I have a life,” Josh said defensively. “I have a girlfriend!”

“And who is this lovely creature who is brave or foolhardy enough to date you?”

“Mandy Hampton,” Josh said. “She’s our media director; she’s flying in tomorrow.”

Sam paused in the act of flipping the tops off of their beers. “Mandy Hampton is our media director?”

“Yeah,” Josh replied.

“And you’re _dating_ Mandy Hampton?” Sam asked, clearly questioning Josh’s sanity.

“Yeah,” Josh retorted. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Sam said hastily. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Seriously, Sam, she’s beautiful, she’s funny, she’s brilliant…What’s the problem?”

“She’s also incredibly opinionated and has a temper that matches her Scottish heritage,” Sam said succinctly.

“She’s…fiery,” Josh said wickedly.

Sam shook his head in amusement. “Better you than me.”

“How do you know Mandy?” Josh asked curiously.

Sam looked sheepish. “I owe her favors.”

Josh raised his eyebrows, his expression a mix of incredulous and impish. “I’m sorry?”

Sam’s sheepishness increased, but he rolled his eyes in response to Josh’s face. “ _Political_ favors, Josh. She did a lot for me when we were on the Hill. She’s a good friend, but I haven’t talked to her in quite a while.”

Josh’s look changed to one of surprise. “You knew Mandy when we were on the Hill? I didn’t meet her until six months ago.”

“She’s been working for the DNC a long time, Josh, you know that. She worked on Thompson’s re-election, and we became friends. She helped me a lot when I was still trying to catch up with the learning curve.”

“As if Thompson even needs help to get re-elected,” Josh said sarcastically.

“He did that year,” Sam grimaced. “The campaign wasn’t a cakewalk, and he had a lot of new staff who didn’t know their stuff yet. You have to remember, Josh; I was half-crazy during that election.”

“You _were_ crazy during that election,” Josh averred. “I just didn’t realize you knew Mandy. How’s she going to react when she finds out you’re working for us?”

“Oh, I’m sure there will be lots of teasing and humiliation and groveling involved,” Sam said. “Mandy excels at that, even when she likes someone.”

“And she likes you?” Josh asked, only half in jest.

“She does,” Sam nodded. “She’s like my big sister; she likes me, but she also likes to torture me.”

“And you owe her favors.”

“And I owe her favors,” Sam confirmed.

 “Well, this campaign is going to be a nice joyride,” Josh smirked.

Sam reached over, grabbed a pillow from the bed, and threw it at Josh. “Can I get some sleep now?”

“Sure thing; I’ll see you tomorrow,” Josh grinned, getting up from his seat. Sam walked with him to the door, opening it to let Josh into the hall. Josh turned to face him.

“Sam, I will make it worth it. I promise,” he said solemnly.

“It’s already worth it,” Sam said warmly. “I have my best friend back.”

Josh gave a nod and a quick smile, then leaned in, the mischief back in his eyes. “C. J. is scary, isn’t she?”

“Terrifying,” Sam agreed promptly. “See you in the morning.”

“Okay,” Josh said. ‘Night, Sam.”

Josh strolled down the hall toward his own room, and Sam shut the door, the ache in his heart lessened and a smile still on his lips. As he changed out of his work clothes and crawled into bed, he was sure, finally, that he was where he needed to be.

 


	7. Bartlet for America - Mandy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing belonging to _The West Wing_ ; it all belongs to NBC, Aaron Sorkin, et al. I write these stories purely for enjoyment; no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> **Author’s Note:** Ah, Mandy. She is difficult but also fun to write. I don’t know much about the way that the DNC assigns staff to various campaigns, so I’m playing a little with the way that Mandy might have come to work for Bartlet. Also, the references to Gov. Bartlet being “addled” and “dotty,” as well as the campaign staff that was fired during the first campaign, come from 2.01, “In the Shadow of Two Gunmen Part I.” Once again, my grateful and heartfelt thanks goes to lcf328, who has been unflaggingly enthusiastic in her encouragement and beta reading.

Chapter Six: Bartlet for America – Mandy

 

The next day, Sam had just finished a hasty lunch at the desk he had claimed for himself when he noticed a head of curly brown hair outside the window, walking rapidly toward the door of the campaign office.

_Here we go; this should be interesting_ , he thought, feeling torn between amusement and apprehension. He pulled his draft of the Governor’s speech for the New Hampshire AFL-CIO toward him and began to write, hoping that he might avoid Mandy’s notice.

All went well, at first; Mandy breezed in the door and looked around, presumably for Josh. Not seeing the deputy campaign director, she approached C.J., who was creating press notes for a briefing on the Governor’s upcoming appearance at a Manchester Catholic church.

“Excuse me,” Mandy said politely, if a trifle officiously. “I’m looking for Josh Lyman.”

C. J. looked up and gave Mandy a keen once-over, which made Sam stifle a smile. C. J. was nothing if not imposing, and she was cowed by very little. Mandy would have a hard time gaining any information that C. J. wasn’t willing to give.

“And you are?” C. J. inquired coolly.

“Mandy Hampton,” Mandy said promptly. “I’m the media director for this campaign.”

C. J. smiled a bit wickedly, holding out her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m C. J. Cregg, your press secretary.”

Mandy was a bit taken aback, but gamely shook C. J.’s hand in return. “I’m glad to meet you, C. J. Can you tell me where to find Josh?”

“Josh is in a meeting with Leo, but I’m sure they’ll both want to talk to you when they’re done,” C. J. answered, her tone warming a few degrees. Sam had to admire her diplomacy; recognizing that Mandy was someone she would have to answer to, C. J. became more friendly, but still suitably cautious. Allowing just anyone to see the deputy campaign director could become a public relations disaster. “Have a seat; you can do whatever you need to until they’ve finished. We’re still getting organized around here.”

“Well, hopefully I can help with that,” Mandy said determinedly, in a way that told Sam she was ready for some political battling. She walked past C. J. and placed her suitcase beside a desk, setting her leather briefcase on the desktop and pulling out a legal pad, a fountain pen, her cell phone, and some unidentifiable paperwork. She sat down, but Sam could feel her taking in the room. Toby sat one desk over from him, impatiently scratching out words from the speech they were working on, and aside from the three of them, the office was deserted. Josh and Leo were in Josh’s office in the back, and the Governor was making phone calls from the hotel and wasn’t due back for another half hour. It was too early in the campaign for volunteers, and Sam desperately wished that there were a few more bodies to distract Mandy’s attention. She almost certainly knew Toby, by reputation and appearance if nothing else, and so he himself was the only unfamiliar person in the room. He could feel her eyes on the back of his head, trying to decipher who he was and what kind of writer he might be.

_Three, two, one_ , he counted silently.

“Sam?” she asked tentatively. She got up from her chair and came around in front of him, trying to see his face. “Sam Seaborn?”

Sam gave in to the inevitable and raised his head. “Madeline Hampton,” he greeted her, smiling. “How are you?”

Mandy stared at him, her eyes wide with surprise. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” Sam nodded. “Glad to hear it.” He turned his attention back to his speech, breathing an inward sigh of relief, but it took only a moment for his attention to be shattered by Mandy’s hand coming down hard on the desk. He jumped, looking back up at her guiltily.

“Sam!” she cried. “What on earth are you doing here, and why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Well, for one thing I didn’t have your address, and for another, I didn’t know you were working for the campaign until last night,” Sam said, quickly going on the defensive. Mandy’s outburst had attracted the notice of C. J. and Toby, who were watching the little tableau with openly curious stares.  
  
“Weren’t you working in New York?” Mandy asked, actively trying to reconcile what she remembered with the reality of Sam sitting in front of her.

“I was, but then Josh came to ask me to write for Hoynes and I said no, and then he decided to work for Bartlet and I said yes, and then my fiancée broke up with me and I came here,” Sam said in one long breath, determined to get the basics of the story out of the way.

Mandy’s eyebrows lifted. “Sounds like you’ve been busy,” she said lightly.

Sam smiled again as he remembered why, exactly, he liked Mandy Hampton; for all of her stubbornness when it came to political issues, she was incredibly kind when it came to personal difficulties. He was grateful for the tactful way she spoke that let him avoid going into detail about Lisa. 

“I have been,” he agreed. “And you? Last I heard you were still working for the DNC.”

Mandy nodded. “I was, and then I got a call from Leo McGarry, saying that he wanted me to come and work for the New Hampshire governor.”

Sam frowned in puzzlement. “So you’re not here under the auspices of the DNC?”

“No. They’re betting on Hoynes right now, and they didn’t agree with my view that Bartlet was the better candidate, so I told them I was leaving and they could thank me later,” Mandy said roguishly.

Sam nodded knowingly, his eyes twinkling. “And I’m sure Josh had nothing to do with that.”

“He _can_ be very persuasive when he wants to be,” Mandy allowed. “Between him and Leo, I couldn’t really refuse – and I wanted to be with Josh in any case. So here I am.”

“It’s good to see you,” Sam said warmly. “I’m sorry I haven’t kept in better touch.”

“So am I,” Mandy said. “I’ll have to add more favors to my list as a repayment for your lack of communication.”

Sam stood up and came around the desk, folding a surprised Mandy in a hug. “It’s nice to know that the old, manipulative Mandy is still in there,” he teased. “You really were being far too nice to me.”

Mandy squeezed him back and grinned at him. “You didn’t think I had forgotten about all the debt you piled up during Thompson’s re-election, did you? Not a chance.”

“Hey, how come Sam gets first hugs?” Josh asked, coming up behind them with Leo in tow. “I haven’t seen you in a month, and I’m your boyfriend.”

“I haven’t seen Sam in four years, and he’s nicer than you are. Plus, you didn’t tell me he was working for us, which means he definitely gets first hugs over you,” Mandy retorted, getting grins out of Toby and Leo, and actual chuckles out of C. J. and Sam. “Mr. McGarry, it’s nice to see you,” she said, nodding to Leo.

“Please call me Leo,” Leo told her. “It’s good to have you, Mandy. Have you met C. J. and Toby?”

“I met C. J. informally, but none of us have been properly introduced,” Mandy answered. Leo beckoned to the communications director and the press secretary, who came over to shake hands.

“It’s a pleasure,” Toby said as he greeted Mandy. “Anyone who can get the better of Josh in an argument is worth knowing.”

“I do my best,” Mandy said. “And C. J.,” she said, turning to the taller woman, “I’m sorry if I was short with you earlier; it was a long flight.”

C. J. smiled. “Apology accepted,” she answered. “And I agree with Toby.”

“Hey!” Josh protested. “When did I become the designated guy to pick on around here?”

“Since they all discovered that Sam is nicer than you are,” Mandy said cheekily.

“I’ll get you back for that,” Josh threatened, but Mandy only gave him a challenging look.

 “I’ll look forward to it,” she returned.

Josh shook his head in amusement and turned to Leo. “Leo, do I have a little time right now to catch Mandy up on what we’ve been doing and go over the schedule for the next week or so?”

Leo glanced at his watch. “Only if you make it quick; the Governor is due back in ten minutes.”

“We will,” Josh promised, and took Mandy’s hand in his own, leading her back toward the small office he had claimed.

“Well, I see your organizational skills haven’t improved any in the last month,” Mandy observed as she looked around at the stacks of paperwork, file boxes, campaign signs, and fast food cartons. “How on earth do you find anything in here?”

“I have my own filing system,” Josh claimed. “It works for me.”

“I’m sure it does,” Mandy said, her eyes sparkling as she stepped toward him. She raised her face as Josh bent toward her, and they embraced, kissing each other thoroughly.

“I’ve missed you,” Mandy said softly. “I’m sorry it’s been so long.”

“Me too,” Josh agreed, wrapping his arms around her waist. “But you’re here now.”

“I am,” Mandy smiled. “I don’t plan on going away anytime soon.”

“Excellent,” Josh said cheerfully, kissing her again.

Mandy sighed slightly as she pulled away. “We’ll have time for this later, but you do have to tell me about the schedule, at least a little,” she reminded him.

Josh nodded, and released her to walk around his desk and find one particular sheaf of papers. “Toby and Sam are working on a speech for the New Hampshire AFL-CIO; that’s happening the day after tomorrow,” Josh began. “Then this weekend is a speech in the fellowship hall at Manchester’s largest Catholic church, which will be followed by a potluck. Finally, there’s a political rally in Manchester and a town hall meeting with the student body at Dartmouth, next week.”

“Not all of the students at Dartmouth are old enough to vote, you know,” Mandy said dryly.

“Yes, but a good number of them can vote, and the rest can volunteer,” Josh said confidently. “College students don’t get enough attention from most presidential candidates, but the Governor is very passionate about young people joining the political process.”

“Good to know,” Mandy said thoughtfully. “We can use that. And the Catholic church event will play well; it’s been a long time since we’ve had a Democratic candidate who was sincere about their faith.”

“Governor Bartlet is,” Josh said quietly. “I don’t know him very well yet, Mandy, but I see him pray before every speech and every question and answer session, and he gives honest answers. Hard answers, but honest answers. He tells the truth.”

“That’s not always an easy sell,” Mandy warned, her brown eyes locking onto Josh’s. “It can be a disaster, depending on who’s doing the talking.”

“I know,” Josh acknowledged. “But I think in this case it’s going to be an asset.” He glanced down at his watch. “We need to get back out there.”

He headed toward the door, but Mandy halted his progress when she spoke, concern filling her voice. “Josh. Sam said he broke up with his fiancée. Was it that woman he was seeing when he was working for Congressman Thompson?”

“Lisa,” Josh filled in for her. “Yeah.”

“He seems pretty broken up about it,” Mandy observed worriedly. “He didn’t say much.”

Josh shook his head slightly. “He won’t. Just – just be as normal as you can around him. You know he hates pity, and he doesn’t want anyone to think he’s not up to the job. He’s probably kicking himself for mentioning it right now. I know he wouldn’t have deliberately told Toby or C. J., not when he’s just getting to know them. You’re a friend and he trusts you, but I’m sure he didn’t mean to announce it.”

“All right,” Mandy nodded. “But he’ll be okay?”

“He’ll be okay,” Josh promised. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“Right,” Mandy said decisively. “We need exposure. The problem with Jerry, Cal, Mack, and Steve is that they were booking you in VFW Halls and libraries, not informing the media outlets, and basically not getting behind this campaign.”

“That would be why I fired them,” Leo observed sardonically.

Mandy had the grace to look slightly abashed, but plowed on determinedly. “Of course you did; they’re nitwits. The audience was a good group: farmers, the elderly, people who are worried about their middle-class incomes, Social Security, and Medicare. But they can’t be your only audience or you won’t get anywhere. The new lineup is good. Toby, I assume that was your doing?” she asked, turning to the communications director.

Toby nodded. “Except for the Dartmouth meeting; that was Josh’s idea,” he noted.

Mandy gave Josh an approving nod before continuing. “Good. My job is to make you, Governor” – and here she turned to Governor Bartlet, who was leaning on a desk with his arms crossed and watching her with amusement – “look as authoritative as possible. Under no circumstances will I let you look addled or dotty, or even out of fashion. I am going to make sure that we have the correct news outlets, magazines, and even bloggers at every event, and it’s all going to look as polished as I can make it.”

“Leo told you about that conversation, didn’t he?” the Governor inquired.

“He did,” Mandy replied with a smile. “It won’t happen again, sir, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise, Madeline, and I’m going to make sure I never leave Leo alone with you,” Jed answered, drawing smiles from his staff. “All of this sounds wonderful, and I appreciate all the thought you’ve put into this already, even though you’ve only been here a day. Carry through on everything, and I may just learn to like you,” he finished with a grin.

“Thank you sir,” Mandy said.

“How are we doing on the AFL-CIO speech?” Leo asked.

“We’re doing well; it’s almost finished,” Toby replied.

“We should talk about college tuition,” Sam put in.

Toby sent him a glare. “No, we shouldn’t.”

“We’re already addressing wages and health insurance, Toby, which are two things that are extremely important to these workers, but education is a close third,” Sam argued. “Their wages are low right now, and a lot of them are barely paying the bills. They can barely afford an emergency savings fund, so they don’t have any way to send their kids to college. We want to give them a way; why shouldn’t we talk about that?”

“We shouldn’t talk about it because we don’t have a way to follow through on it yet,” Toby said warningly.

“We have time to figure out a way! The point of a campaign is letting people know what we _want_ to do, not just what we think we _can_ do,” Sam returned.

The Governor had been observing them with his arms crossed, a keen look in his eyes.

“Toby,” he said decisively, “let Sam put together a paragraph on education initiatives for the speech. I want to see it in the draft.”

“Yes sir,” Toby assented.

“If he can convince me that I want to talk about it, then I’m sure he’ll convince the union members that they want to hear about it,” Bartlet said humorously. “Go to it, Sam.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam agreed.

“Now, what about the event at the Manchester Catholic church?” the Governor asked.

“We’ve begun drafting your remarks, sir, but there’s some difficult balancing to be done,” Toby answered.

“Separation of church and state,” the Governor surmised.

“Yes sir,” Toby agreed. “It’s not at all unusual for a candidate to speak to a church audience, but given Rome’s position on social issues, you’re going to look like a very conservative Democrat unless we can come up with a new approach for the speech.”

Bartlet bowed his head for a moment, deep in thought. “Put the church and state issue front and center,” he said eventually.

“What?” Toby said incredulously.

“Put it front and center,” Bartlet repeated, more decidedly this time. “I am a man of faith. The church teaches that we have an obligation to our fellow human beings to help them, take care of them, and better their quality of life, so far as it lies in our power. We have an obligation to make sure that everyone has access to medical care, that everyone has food on their table, that everyone can gain an education, that everyone can walk out their front door without the fear of being robbed. Ensuring those things is part of what a government is for – but it does not follow that a government has the right to enforce religious viewpoints upon its citizens, or impinge upon their personal freedom with doctrines that they do not necessarily follow. Government is about balance, and every government in history that has allowed the church to dictate to the state has eventually found itself corrupt on the inside and with a revolt on the outside. Those who follow one religion or another are free to make their choices and decisions based on that doctrine, but the United States has citizens of many religions, and the federal government cannot give preference to one religious denomination over another. It certainly can’t enshrine religious dogma in its laws.”

Mandy had been listening attentively to the Governor, her eyes intent as he spoke, and when he finished she turned to Josh. “You were right,” she said. “Honest answers, but not easy.” Josh gave her a little grin; his eyes were sparkling. She turned back to Bartlet. “Governor, you realize that what you just said won’t necessarily go over well with everyone in that audience?”

“I don’t need it to go over well with everyone,” Bartlet retorted. “I am hoping that the majority of people in that church will consider my point of view, and if they don’t agree with it, I’m willing to answer their questions and try to persuade them.”

“Good, because they’re going to have some,” Mandy answered. Her tone was serious, but her eyes had lit up as well, and Josh knew she was pleased. Mandy was a fighter, and she had tremendous respect for those who were willing to fight for their positions.

“What happens at the Dartmouth town hall?” the Governor asked, moving the discussion to their next planned event.

“Well, sir, you’ll get a chance to speak for just a few minutes, and then take questions from the students, one at a time,” C. J. said, jumping into the discussion. “We’ll be scanning the questions two days before, when we’re at Dartmouth to make sure everything is arranged and running smoothly. The professors have been plugging the meeting and passing on questions submitted by the students to the provost’s office. Once we go through them and approve enough questions for the allotted time, we’ll put them in sequence and let the students know.”

“Who’s going to be helping you?” Mandy inquired. “We’re going to need microphones for those students who ask questions, and someone is going to have to make sure they stay in the right order.”

C. J. grinned triumphantly. “The questions will be numbered for the students asking them, so they know where they fall in the lineup. I made arrangements with a lovely political science professor to have her students act as ushers and microphone carriers for extra credit. We’ll be meeting with them, too, and making sure they know the order of the entire program.”

“All right, people, good work,” Leo said brusquely. “Let’s make it all happen; we’ve got a campaign to win.”

“And we’re off to the races,” Mandy murmured irrepressibly.

 


	8. BFA: Reunion and First Triumphs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing belonging to _The West Wing_ ; it all belongs to NBC, Aaron Sorkin, et al. I write these stories purely for enjoyment; no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
>  **Author’s Note:** I wanted to write another chapter about Mandy and Josh’s relationship because, in order to see why they don’t work as a couple, we have to see why they do work, first, and I felt as though it was really important to give their relationship some context. Josh’s secondhand quotation from Gov. Bartlet (about the dairy farmers) comes from “In the Shadow of Two Gunmen.” Otherwise, just my own little daydreams about some early small victories in the campaign.

Chapter Seven: Bartlet for America – Reunion and First Triumphs

 

Mandy rolled over onto her side in order to face Josh, who had been gently tracing his fingers along her clavicle. After a long day of campaign work, they had finally managed to return to the hotel and have some time together. Now they were curled up in bed in Josh’s hotel room, and Mandy felt more content than she had in the past month. Being without Josh was hard. They did the best they could, traveling back and forth to see one another when they weren’t both in Washington. She had been traveling around to various campaigns for the DNC, keeping tabs on the candidates and their polling numbers, while Josh had been working for Hoynes and then had left Hoynes to work for Bartlet.

That train of thought reminded her that she had wanted to talk to Josh about his change of employment. They had argued about it over the phone, but in the end Mandy hadn’t had the heart to dissuade him when he was so excited about the Bartlet campaign. The fallout for her had been considerably more complicated, however. “You caused quite the firestorm at the DNC when you left Hoynes’ campaign,” she said quietly, a thread of amusement in her voice.

Josh’s mouth twitched. “Yes, I’m sure I did,” he said dryly. “I’m sure they all thought I had taken leave of my senses.”

“They did,” Mandy confirmed. “I had to hear it from just about everyone. Some of them even had the gall to ask me why I couldn’t keep you from making such a suicidal career move.”

Josh sobered, reaching up to run a hand through her curls. “I’m sorry; you shouldn’t have had to deal with that. It isn’t your fault.”

“You’re darn right it isn’t, and that’s what I told anyone who asked,” Mandy said lightly. “As if _I_ could ever prevent you from doing whatever dumb thing comes into your head.”

“Mandy…” Josh sighed. “You don’t really think this is dumb any more, do you? You’ve met the Governor; you can’t tell me that –”

“I can tell you that I like him, that he’s an intelligent man, and that he’s also stubborn, belligerent, and outspoken,” Mandy interrupted. “I think he’s going to make a good candidate, but he needs to let people handle him. If he doesn’t, we’re not going to get anywhere.”

“Candidates being handled is exactly why we have a bunch of legislators who can’t take a position on anything,” Josh argued. “They say the right thing, and then when they get into office they follow the party line like a bunch of lemmings and become utterly ineffectual.”

“Not all of them become ineffectual, Josh,” Mandy said, rolling her eyes. “Some of them actually get things accomplished.”

“Some of them like John Hoynes?” Josh said challengingly.

“Yes, some of them like John Hoynes,” Mandy said warningly. “I’m here because I want to be here, Josh, but you can’t tell me that you haven’t thought about the fact that this entire campaign may be a wild goose chase. I defended you to my colleagues; I took this job because I wanted to be with you and because no one with any sense says no to Leo McGarry. That doesn’t mean that we’re going to win. We’re going to make a good run for it, but we might not win.”

Josh shook his head. “I can’t think like that, Mandy; if we’re going to win, I have to believe we’re going to win from the start. I didn’t feel that way with Hoynes; he still could win this election, but I didn’t believe in him.”

“I’m just trying to look at things from a practical angle,” Mandy pointed out, her tone a little sharp. “I’m on your side. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that Governor Bartlet is our next president. Don’t jump down my throat because I remind you that we have a very long hill to climb.”

“I know we do,” Josh admitted. “I know we do. But Mandy, if you could have been with me in that moment when I saw the Governor speak in a VFW hall, and tell a dairy farmer that he voted against the dairy industry in New Hampshire because he didn’t want to make it harder for people to buy milk – I could hardly process what I was hearing. That dairy farmer couldn’t either! He looked absolutely stunned. This is the kind of man I’ve wanted to work for all my life. I don’t care if he’s cranky and can’t remember our names for the rest of the campaign. If he can give answers like that, and follow through on that kind of thinking when he’s in office, then we have the right man.”

“That’s a big “if,” especially when it comes to the follow-through,” Mandy said skeptically. “But you’re right; we may just have the right man for the job.”

“Leo thinks we do,” Josh said quietly. “I trust him over anyone else.”

“Care to explain why that is?” Mandy questioned gently. “I can tell you do, but you’ve never told me how you know him, outside of working on the Hill.”

“Leo and my father are very close friends,” Josh answered with a smile. “Leo would come to the house every now and then, once every month or so when he had time, and spend whole afternoons and evenings talking to my father about politics, and campaigns, and the latest bills in Congress. Dad worked for a lot of political campaigns when he was young, and even when he got swamped by the law partnership, he still tried to volunteer some time. It’s always been so important to him to contribute to the political process. He was so proud when I decided to work in politics; he’s always sending me suggestions and wanting to know how we’re doing. ”

“Did your father and Leo meet on a campaign?” Mandy asked. 

Josh paused in surprise, then laughed. “You know, I never asked Dad that,” he said wonderingly. “I should. It never occurred to me to ask; Leo has always been a part of our family’s life, and I never questioned that. I learned so much from both Dad and Leo about politics, how a campaign is run, how to frame issues and plan strategy. I sat at the dinner table and listened to everything they said. I was fascinated by it; I soaked it up like a sponge. They never seemed to mind, and when I got a little older they encouraged me to ask questions.”

“It sounds like a wonderful way to learn,” Mandy said with a smile. “Having one of the best lawyers in the country and the future Secretary of Labor sitting down and talking politics would be quite awe-inspiring, I would think.”

“It was,” Josh nodded. His eyes were shining, and Mandy thought affectionately that she could see a little bit of the boy he must have been, listening to his father and Leo with wide eyes and rapt attention. “I have never met two people who believed so strongly in the power of politics to effect good, real, positive change. Even when the elections were going badly for the Democrats, and Dad and Leo disagreed with what was happening in the federal government, they always said that the next election could change things, that there was always the hope that things would get better. They saw it as the beauty of our electoral system,” Josh finished, his lips curling upward in amusement. “I know quite a few people who would probably disagree. Some of the time I disagree, but it does remind you that the possibilities are endless.”

“It’s a very optimistic way to think about our election cycles,” Mandy concurred. “I wish more people thought as they do; we might end up with better election results,” she joked.

Josh laughed, kissing her on the nose. “Always the strategist,” he teased. “What if the electorate started deciding just to change things for change’s sake, switching up senators, congressmen, and presidents just for the fun of it?”

“Then I would truly despair for the future of our country,” Mandy replied. “Let’s hope it doesn’t happen. Still, I like the idea that every election is a fresh start.”

“I do, too,” Josh agreed. “That was why I came to this campaign, Mandy. I have grown so tired of working for the same kinds of candidates in every election cycle, people who refused to openly stand up for the Democratic platform, who walked the middle as though it were a tightrope instead of a safe zone. I didn’t feel as though I was working for real people anymore. Governor Bartlet isn’t like that, and I knew it the moment I heard him answer that dairy farmer.”

“He does seem to be one of a kind, and I can’t imagine him staying in the middle unless he truly believes that it’s where he belongs,” Mandy admitted. “But keep in mind, Josh, he’s not going to be perfect on every issue; he’s a fallible human being.”

Josh turned a keen gaze on her, hearing what she left unsaid. “What do you know?” he asked.

Mandy rolled her eyes. “You know, it wouldn’t kill those of you working in Washington to keep slightly better track of the political positions of our governors,” she sighed. “I know that you are primarily concerned with Congress, and well you should be, but the governors very often become our political candidates when there isn’t a suitable member of the House or Senate. This campaign is a case in point.”

“Keeping track of the governors is part of what the DNC does; if I want to know about the political climate surrounding school vouchers in Nevada, I’ll call you,” Josh said cheekily.

Mandy poked him, his teasing only partially dispelling her exasperation. “I’m serious, Josh; if you’re going to win a campaign for a governor whom no one outside of New England has ever heard of, don’t you think it would be wise to know his strengths and weaknesses?”

“Probably,” Josh agreed, his face sobering. “What are we talking about?”

“He’s going to struggle with foreign policy and military intervention,” Mandy told him. “John Hoynes is going to try and beat him with it, and he just might succeed.”

“I know he hasn’t served in the armed forces,” Josh began slowly, “but that doesn’t mean he’s incapable of making military decisions. The man has a Nobel Prize in economics, Mandy; he’s surely understands the economic and social implications of foreign policy decisions.”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t, but that’s a different skill altogether than trying to decide when and how we have to kill people,” Mandy replied bluntly. “I’ve read a lot of this man’s speeches and comments to the press, Josh; Bartlet is a pacifist at heart, and he’s going to be uncomfortable with the fact that he has to run the most powerful set of armed forces in the world.”

“I think he’ll still be able to make the calls,” Mandy added after a moment’s thought. “He has a very strong sense of justice and a wide understanding of what it means to protect the American public. But he’s not going to like it, and that has the potential to be a disaster during the campaign.”

“Hoynes doesn’t have much military experience, either,” Josh protested. “How on earth is he going to go after us for that?”

“John Hoynes is from Texas, and he doesn’t have a big problem either liking guns or using them,” Mandy retorted. “It’s one of the many reasons he’s going to take the South; his ideas about the use of force in foreign policy are much more toward the middle.”

“Not that he’ll ever admit that; he’ll just imply it,” Josh grumbled.

“Whether he admits it or not, his voting record speaks for itself,” Mandy answered.

“I can’t imagine he would abuse our military capabilities, Mandy,” Josh said defensively.

Mandy looked at him in surprise, assessing his tone and words. “You’re the one who left his campaign,” she reminded him.

“I did, and I had every reason to, but he’s not a terrible person,” Josh said shortly.

“I never said he was. But he’s our opponent now, and I’m telling you that you’re going to have to start thinking about him as an opponent,” Mandy said carefully. “He is a politician to the core, which means he is slippery about his positions, but his position on foreign policy and military intervention is going to be much more defined than the Governor’s.”  

“I understand that, and it’s a concern, but Hoynes being able to give one solid answer out of a thousand somehow doesn’t make me worry too much about our chances,” Josh said acerbically.

“I am sure that the Governor will have a well-reasoned, thoughtful answer for most of his positions,” Mandy conceded.  

“Exactly,” Josh said vehemently. “How many candidates have we had recently who can give actual answers for their positions, answers that aren’t twenty-second party sound bites?”

“Not very many,” Mandy acknowledged. She lifted herself up on one elbow, so that she was slightly above Josh and able to look into his face. “I hope you’re right about him, Josh. I hope you and Leo are right, more than anything in the world. I want you to know that. I also want you to remember that John Hoynes, for all of his faults, has more than a legitimate shot at winning this. That’s why you were working for him to begin with, and it makes your position that much harder because you like him as a person, even if you don’t like him as a politician. You and I are going to disagree about things in the next few months, because we almost always disagree about strategy, but I want you to know that I want to win this as much as you do. I want Governor Bartlet to be the candidate you think he is.”

“Thank you,” Josh murmured, his eyes full of warmth and gratitude. He lifted a hand to stroke Mandy’s cheek before placing a soft kiss on her cheek. “I appreciate it. I’ll do my best to stay objective about Hoynes.”

“We’ll find out whether you’re right soon enough,” Mandy reminded him. “I want to see the Governor in action; I have yet to hear him speak in public. The events in the next couple of weeks will tell me a lot about what he’s capable of.”

“Then I’m crossing my fingers that he’s up to your standards,” Josh said, only partially in jest. He pulled Mandy close to him, gathering her against him, and kissed her behind the ear. “We should get some sleep.”

“I know we should, but I hate the idea of going back to my room,” Mandy confessed, wrapping her arms more firmly around Josh’s. “We’ve been apart so long.”

“So don’t go,” Josh suggested quietly. “Stay. Everyone knows we’re together; do you really think anyone would say anything?”

Mandy reluctantly shook her head. “You know I can’t, Josh; campaigns are all about appearances. The last thing we need is some reporter sniffing out a story about the Bartlet campaign’s deputy director and media director sleeping together. That would go over beautifully with the DNC,” she finished, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Josh sighed. “You’re right. I’m so glad you and C. J. have to deal with the press instead of me; I’d want to kill them on a daily basis.”

“I have those days,” Mandy said wryly. She sat up and ran a hand through her curls, then retrieved her clothes from where they were draped over a chair. She chuckled as she buttoned up her blouse, her eyes twinkling at Josh. “ _You_ dealing with the press. There’s a disaster in the making.”

“Why?” Josh demanded, sitting up in his turn.

“Because you have no tact, Josh; you routinely attack the right and anyone who doesn’t agree with you in ways that are a PR disaster. Don’t get me wrong; it’s your job on a campaign to make the other guy look bad, or at the very least stupid, and you do it well. Putting you in front of the press, however, is like handing out a basket of Easter candy to every reporter. You have no ability to spin; you let your mouth run away with you and they spin you,” Mandy replied, stepping into her skirt and pulling on her suit jacket.

“I have tact; I just choose not to use it on behalf of people who are, generally speaking, rich, ignorant, selfish, and self-righteous,” Josh retorted.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why Josh Lyman is never allowed to speak in public,” Mandy commented with a smirk.

“Okay, point taken,” Josh gave in, grinning. “No talking to reporters. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Bright and early,” Mandy said, leaning down to kiss him. “I’ll bring the coffee.”

“The Governor is going to have you convinced by the end of that Dartmouth town hall, Mandy,” Josh promised her. “He might even manage it before then.”

Mandy smiled. “We’ll see. “

* * *

C. J. felt as though the smile was frozen on her face; post-speech potlucks never involved a lot of eating. She had shaken so many hands that her right hand felt injured, and she had answered as many general questions about the campaign as she could. She had also kept a sharp eye and ear on the Governor, who was moving around the room talking to people. He was good at ingratiating himself with strangers, she had to admit that. He genuinely wanted to know about people, about their troubles and their triumphs.

“Governor Bartlet, can you clarify something for me about your position on church and state issues?” asked a woman in a green sweater. “I understand that the state does not have a right to dictate religious beliefs to its citizens, particularly not in a country where we have made religious freedom such a cornerstone of our beliefs. But doesn’t the state still have an obligation to ask its citizens to behave morally?”

C. J. stiffened, alarm bells going off in her head, and she caught Mandy’s eye, tilting her head toward where the Governor was standing with his interlocutor.

The Governor smiled kindly, as though he had anticipated the question and understood what the woman was asking (and, C. J. thought, it was entirely probable that he had, and that he did).

“The difficulty with that is that everyone has a different definition of what is moral,” the Governor answered. “Outside of particular kinds of crimes – robbery, for example, or sexual assault, or murder – it is very hard to find morals that everyone agrees upon. You might find it completely unacceptable not to go to church on the Sabbath, and yet your neighbor down the street finds it perfectly acceptable to spend Sunday with his family instead of going to church. Two generations ago it was scandalous to engage in sexual relations outside of marriage, and yet now there are a great number of Americans who do it every day. There are also a large number of Americans who choose not to have sex until they are married. The point of our democracy is that they are given the freedom to make that choice.”

“I see what you mean, I think,” the woman answered slowly. “Enforcing a particular moral code within your family is one thing; trying to enforce it among a population of millions would be impossible.”

“Not to mention that it would go against the freedoms laid out in our Constitution,” the Governor pointed out. “That does not mean, however, that the state does not have an obligation to step in when crimes are committed that are unacceptable by any humanitarian standard. Murder, sexual abuse, rape, hate crimes, robbery, identity theft – crimes that strike at the very core of one’s soul and violate individual privacy, autonomy, and property – those are behaviors that should and will be prosecuted. On the other hand, trying to say that your daughter is engaging in immoral behavior by listening to Aerosmith probably isn’t going to carry any weight in a courtroom,” the Governor finished with a chuckle.

The woman smiled. “I understand, sir. Thank you for the clarification.”

“You’re very welcome, Mrs. – “

“Jackson,” the woman filled in for him. “It’s a pleasure to speak with you.”

“It’s a pleasure to speak with you, too,” the Governor said, shaking her hand.

C. J. breathed a quiet sigh of relief, turning to where Mandy had appeared at her elbow. “He’s very good,” she said in a low voice, giving Mandy a little grin.

“Yes he is,” Mandy agreed softly. “He just stepped around any number of land mines, yet made his position perfectly clear.”

“I was nervous there for a minute,” C. J. confessed. “Luckily, Mrs. Jackson also seems to have a head on her shoulders. She was willing to listen to him.”

“I know,” Mandy responded. “We’re not always going to be that lucky.”

“We’re not,” C. J. concurred, “but at least we were tonight. That’s the first potentially thorny question we’ve had. He’s winning them over.” 

“I think the speech earlier helped a lot,” Mandy said. “Toby and Sam did an amazing job of showing that the Governor is perfectly supportive of the church’s humanitarian missions, but that he has an obligation as a public servant to steer clear of religious dogma.”

“The Governor also did a nice job of adding his own little rhetorical flourishes,” C. J. acknowledged, determined to give credit where it was due. “He is an incredible public speaker.”

“Don’t tell Josh, but I’m beginning to believe he and Leo might be right,” Mandy said with a grin.

C. J. answered with a grin of her own. “So am I.”

* * *

“Governor, what would you do to encourage more young people to be part of the political process?” asked Matt Kelly, a Dartmouth senior who was majoring in political science.

“Well, Matt, in an ideal world I would make sure that every high school student in this country had two semesters of civics and government in their curriculum,” the Governor began. “If I’m very lucky, I may get to appoint the Secretary of Education, in which case I will make it his job to make that happen. In the meantime, I would ask every one of you in this room to volunteer for a political campaign, preferably mine.”

A number of the students laughed, and a round of appreciative clapping came from the audience.

“Each one of you has the power to change the outcome of a political race,” Jed continued. “I know it doesn’t feel like that to you, and there’s no reason that it should. You have been overlooked by political candidates as a source of votes, as a source of manpower, as a source of opinions and energy and ideas. Yet campaign managers – including my own,” he added, garnering more chuckles from the students, “know that you are the most valuable allies we have in running an election. The more of you who get involved in the political process, the more of you we have who are willing to spend your time volunteering, and thereby advocating for your political beliefs, the more success we will have as candidates and as a country.”

Jed paused, weighing his next words with conviction. “There is a great deal of disillusionment in our country about the effectiveness of its government. The candidates with the money have the power; the special interest groups with the money have the power; the older and more experienced politicians have the power. I am here to tell you that if enough people, especially young people like you, make your voices heard, if you voice your dissatisfaction or your support for what is happening in your cities and your states and your national government, then change will come. Politicians are servants of the people, and when enough people call for a change, that change will eventually happen.”

Jed’s voice rose as he went on. “We need an electorate that is passionate about voting, with members that are passionate about making their voices heard in the political arena, members who are willing to fight for the policies they want to see enacted in Washington. We need you to stand up and say, ‘I am here to volunteer, to make my voice heard, to be an agent of change.’ We need you to say, ‘This is my home, my government, my America, and I will fight for my own rights and those of my fellow citizens!’”

Jed was almost shouting as he finished, and as the last few sentences left his lips, the students began to stand. The clapping began low, but rose in a mighty crescendo until it was crashing against the walls of the auditorium, and cheers and whistles filled the air until the noise was deafening.

“Yes!” Josh shouted, punching the air in excitement and exhilaration. He turned a joyous face to Sam, who was looking on in awe.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Sam said in wonder, his voice barely audible over the din. “I’ve never seen a candidate who could _move_ people like this. He is our Real Thing, Josh.”

“I know,” Josh answered, his face saying more to Sam than words ever could. “I know.”

“Leo,” Sam asked, turning to their campaign manager, who was observing the hall with a small smile on his face, “how did you know? How could you be sure?”

“We’ve been friends for a long time,” Leo said, a rare grin appearing as he watched his old friend win over a crowd of young people who were less than half his age. “I had a hunch.”

 


	9. Bartlet for America - Donna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing belonging to _The West Wing_ ; it all belongs to NBC, Aaron Sorkin, et al. I write these stories purely for enjoyment; no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> **Author’s Note:** My apologies to all Mikes everywhere, for associating them with Dr. Freeride. It has taken me some time to write an introduction for Donna that gives her sufficient context; I hope I have succeeded. Josh and Donna’s conversation in the Manchester campaign office is, of course, the work of Aaron Sorkin and comes from “In the Shadow of Two Gunmen, Pt. 2.” Once again, only the subtext is mine. I feel a little guilty for borrowing his brilliance for so much of this chapter, but I couldn’t find a way to write this story without this scene; it is so crucial to Donna, and to Josh and Donna’s relationship, that it seemed sacrilegious to leave it out. I can only hope that the thoughts and events surrounding it provide entertainment and enlightenment as well.
> 
> Also, my deepest thanks to my wonderful beta, lcf328, who pointed out several important points that required clarification and fixing. For this chapter, as well, she has been a wonderfully patient and insightful reader.

Chapter Eight: Bartlet for America – Donna

 

_Manchester, NH. February._

 

Donna stepped out of the car, shivering as a cold wind cut through her open coat and the thin white fabric of her blouse. She straightened her clothes, pulled her purse from the passenger seat, and looked up at the plain entryway in front of her, hope welling up in her chest. This was it. The Bartlet for America campaign. The storefront was so small that it could have come from the set for a high school play, but it looked beautiful to Donna. 

She had heard clips of Governor Bartlet’s town hall meeting at Dartmouth on National Public Radio, and although she had never heard him speak in her life before, something in his voice had made her want to come and work for him. It had been a long time since she had wanted to be a part of something bigger than the small world she had created in Madison, consisting of her and Mike and their little apartment, but Governor Bartlet had stirred her conscience, made her feel that she should be contributing to her country in some way.

She had arrived home that night to find dinner on the table, and Mike with his bags packed.

Donna closed her eyes as she remembered the pain that had knifed through her when she realized that he intended to leave her. He wasn’t going to a medical conference, which had certainly happened many times before. He wasn’t going to visit his mother, who lived up in Stevens Point and required a considerable amount of medical and physical help. Donna was actually very fond of Mike’s mother, and she knew she would have heard about it if he was planning a visit. No, he had filled every suitcase and dufflebag he owned with his belongings and had cooked a nice dinner so they could talk about his reasons for leaving. He wanted to explain, he had said. He wanted to tell her what had happened himself.

Mike had fallen for a resident named Angela who also worked at the hospital. She was a cardio surgeon and a rising star, with more education than Donna had ever had and apparently the ambition to go with her brains. She was beautiful and funny. Mike had been seeing her for three months.

His excuses were pathetic. Donna knew that. When he had first gotten into medical school, he had persuaded her to leave school and help support him through his residency. Once he had his own position, he promised that she could go back to school and finish her degree. It was simply easier, he said, not to have two of them incurring student loans at the same time. He would help pay for her last two years when he was finished. 

She worked long hours as a secretary at a doctor’s office while he spent even longer hours at the hospital. She had paid the rent and the bills, only asking him to pay for his own vehicle and contribute to the food budget. They often worked opposite shifts, so they became ships passing in the night, or the very early morning. He went to hospital receptions without inviting her; he never asked her to join him when the residents went out for drinks. She had been a little fool.

According to him, of course, it was all Donna’s fault. Despite the fact that she was doing it all for him, he resented how much she worked and how little he saw her. He said she never wanted to go out. He berated her for never buying herself a new dress or trying to look attractive for him anymore, when in fact he simply didn’t notice when she bought new clothes. He never complimented her on how she looked, even when she tried particularly hard to look nice for him. Everything was paid on time, but she wasn’t acting like his girlfriend anymore. To add insult to injury, he had accused her of not wanting to go back to school, of lacking the motivation to finish her degree. She was antisocial, too skinny, and too absorbed in her career.

_My career_ , Donna thought bitterly. _Being a ten-dollar-an-hour receptionist certainly qualifies as a career, doesn’t it, Mike? And I gave up my schooling for you, and you had the nerve to throw it back at me as though it was something I didn’t want, something I didn’t miss._

Mike’s castigation of her work and her efforts to make him happy was painful, even while she despised him for getting involved with someone else when he was supposed to be with her. It took two people to create infidelity, which meant that Angela was just as much to blame as Mike, but somehow that didn’t make Donna feel much better. She had thought Mike was more honorable than that. His belittling of her and his questionable moral decisions left her angry and very, very hurt.

After Mike left, it had taken Donna less than a week to move out of their apartment. She stored most of her things in her parents’ basement, paid for the broken lease out of her small savings, and put two full suitcases in the back of her car. For once in her life, she was going to do something she wanted to do, without putting anyone else first. She was going to work for Governor Bartlet’s campaign.

Only now she was here, and the butterflies in her stomach wouldn’t stop. She had left the University of Wisconsin after two years, and she had never focused on anything long enough to gain some expertise. She loved to learn, but she didn’t seem to be able to find one subject that would excite her for life.

_Just this once, let my impulses be right_ , she prayed silently, before straightening her shoulders and walking in the door.

* * *

The bell above the door, leftover from when the building had housed a bookstore, or a greeting card shop, or a dollar store, tinkled pleasantly. The room seemed to be full of people, although as Donna looked around she realized that there couldn’t be more than about ten or a dozen people in the room. Keyboards were clicking, a phone rang occasionally, and a high school student or two ran around with boxes of lawn signs, fliers, and campaign buttons. She touched the arm of one of these as they hurried by, a friendly-faced boy with sandy brown hair.

“Hi, I’m Donna Moss. I was hoping to volunteer - ?” she offered, making the statement a question.

The boy nodded. “Sure. I’m Adam, by the way. You want to talk to Josh,” he said, inclining his head toward the back.

“Josh,” Donna repeated. “Great. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Adam replied, giving her a smile in return before hurrying off with his boxes.

Donna made her way toward the back. No one was paying any attention to her; there was far too much going on. She saw a tall woman having a vehement conversation on the phone, a bearded man angrily crossing out lines on a legal pad, and a shorter, curly-haired woman debating with a distinguished-looking man in a gray suit.

As she reached a hallway that seemed to lead to a number of offices, Donna realized that she hadn’t asked Adam what this Josh looked like. For all she knew, she could have walked past the man already.

_Why didn’t I think to ask that?_ she groaned mentally. _Now I’ll have to find another person to bother._

She had turned to go back into the main room when an office on the corner of the hallway caught her eye. There was a small sign in the window that proclaimed it was the office of a Josh Lyman, but there was no one in. The desk was a disaster area, there were lawn signs stacked against the filing cabinet, and the phone seemed to be ringing incessantly. There was also an open calendar lying carelessly atop a pile of file folders.

_Well, it can’t hurt to answer the phone_ , Donna thought. _Whoever this Josh Lyman is, he ought to appreciate someone taking messages for him. Either he just refuses to answer his phone, or he’s too busy to do so, and either way he needs to be a little better organized._

Donna walked into the office and picked up the receiver before she could change her mind. “Josh Lyman’s office,” she said pleasantly.

“Yes, hello. This is Doug Kensington from the _Manchester Journal_ ; I was hoping to get a quote from Mr. Lyman about the latest polling numbers?”

“Mr. Lyman isn’t in right now, but let me transfer you to our press secretary,” Donna said smoothly. “Hold on, please.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Kensington responded, and Donna pressed the “Hold” button and put down the handset, her heart racing. She had no idea who the press secretary was, but she had to find out now or there could be repercussions she didn’t want to think about.

Donna walked back out to the main room, searching desperately for someone who didn’t look too busy, and her eyes lighted on the tall woman whom she had noticed before. No longer on the phone, she was sitting at her desk typing. Something about her face attracted Donna; she looked friendly.

“Excuse me,” Donna said politely as she walked up to the desk. “I’m Josh Lyman’s new assistant, and I don’t know everyone yet. I have a call from a reporter at the _Manchester Journal_ ; he’s looking for a quote about the new polling numbers?”

The woman looked up in surprise, evaluating Donna over the top of her glasses. “I didn’t know Josh had hired an assistant.”

“I just started today, and I’m volunteering. I’m a little nervous,” Donna confessed.

“Well, you can send that reporter over to my phone; I’m the press secretary, C. J. Cregg,” the woman said, extending her hand and smiling warmly. “Extension 67 – just don’t ask why the extensions are numbered the way they are. No one knows,” she finished with a chuckle.

“I’m Donna Moss,” Donna answered, returning the smile. “Thanks. I’ll send him over right away. He’s on line four.”

“Got it,” C. J. said as she hurried away.

Donna transferred the call, feeling her stomach twist a little unpleasantly at the lies she had just told C. J. She _had_ just started – this very minute, in fact – and she was volunteering, but she wasn’t Mr. Lyman’s assistant yet. He didn’t even know she existed! But she desperately, desperately wanted to be here, and if she could make herself useful this afternoon, maybe he would be inclined to keep her on as a campaign volunteer, if nothing else.

She needed a new life, one without Mike in it. She could only hope that the people working this campaign were willing to give her a chance.

* * *

Almost two hours later, Donna was still in Josh’s office taking calls. The phone had indeed rung constantly, and she had managed to take three messages and pass other calls off to Toby and Mandy as well as C. J. She was astonished by her own temerity; she had never met any of these people before today, and still she had approached them, introduced herself, and gotten to know them simply by trying to help a man who had yet to show his face.

The phone rang again. Donna lifted the handset, pulling Josh’s calendar toward her.

“Josh Lyman. Uh, no, he’s not available right now. Uh, this afternoon? He’s got a media session and then a four o’clock with finance.”

A slender, energetic man with brown eyes walked into the office, and out of the corner of her eye, Donna saw him retrieve a piece of paper, turn around to leave, and then stop, turning back to look at her. 

“If you leave your name I can give Josh the message when he gets back,” Donna continued. She listened for a moment, jotting down the name and phone number she was given. “Thank you very much.”

Donna set down the phone and found the man staring at her curiously.

“Hi,” he said, the curiosity on his face mirrored in his voice.

“Hi,” she replied cheerfully. She had no idea who this man was, but she might as well be friendly until she found out what he wanted.

“Who are you?” the man asked. Donna thought in amusement that he seemed completely baffled; obviously he was used to knowing everyone in the office and wasn’t expecting to encounter someone new.

“I’m Donna Moss. Who are you?” she questioned good-naturedly.

“I’m Josh Lyman,” he answered, pleasantly enough, but still with an undercurrent in his voice that indicated he was stating something that should have been obvious.

Donna felt her stomach plummet into her shoes. This was the man whose phone she had been answering, whose calendar she had been reading, who she wanted to work for.

“Ah,” she replied idiotically, trying to think of something to say in a situation that was desperately awkward. She needed to come up with explanations, and she needed to come up with them fast.

“Yes,” Josh replied, looking at her a bit warily.

“I’m your new assistant,” Donna told him, trying her best to keep a friendly smile on her face.

“Did I have an old assistant?” Josh asked. Donna couldn’t tell whether he was being serious or facetious; if the former, it didn’t bode very well for how he treated his employees.

“Maybe not,” she answered nervously.

“Who are you?” Josh repeated. He now seemed absolutely flummoxed, as if he couldn’t account for her or her behavior in a place where he was used to having complete control. If Donna wasn’t so scared, she would have been laughing, but this was the man who held her fate in his hands; if he wouldn’t let her continue with the campaign, her dreams of a fresh start would be crushed.

“I’m Donna Moss, I came here to volunteer, and the woman assigned me to you,” Donna tried again. She winced internally; when had she become such a shameless fibber? And why had she said she was assigned to him? He would want to know who she had talked to – and Adam had originally told her to talk to Josh himself.

“Which woman?” Josh asked.

_As predicted,_ Donna thought. _Of course he wants to know which woman, and neither C. J. nor Mandy assigns people to anything. They have far too much on their plates already without coordinating volunteers. I need to at least try and come up with a name._

“Becky,” Donna guessed, trying to sound confident.

“You mean Margaret?” Josh corrected her.

“Yes,” Donna said, attempting to make it sound as though she had just temporarily forgotten the name of a staff person, since she was new. Her entire strategy seemed to be falling apart. She had simply started answering Josh’s phone as though she belonged in his office. Right now that seemed like a very bad decision.

_What am I doing?_ she thought frantically. _I don’t belong in this office; what was I thinking? He has every right to tell me to get lost . . ._

“Who are you?” Josh asked for the third time. Donna truly wanted to laugh at him now; he was so confused by her presence and her incoherent answers, but his eyes were kind.

“I’m Donna Moss; I’ll be working as your assistant,” Donna said encouragingly. Maybe if she repeated it enough times, she could simply get him to agree.

“I’m going to talk to Margaret,” Josh said decisively, trying to move past her. He was clearly determined to sort out the mystery of how she came into his orbit, and Donna panicked at the thought of what would happen if he actually sought out Margaret, who had no idea who she was or why she was there.

“Actually, Josh –” Donna said, quickly blocking him, “When I said I was assigned to you –?"

“Yeah?” Josh inquired, raising an eyebrow as if daring her to finish.

“I may have been overstating it a little,” Donna confessed. _Overstating it is actually an understatement. I was lying outright, but I need this. More than I can ever explain._

“Who are you?” Josh questioned again, and now Donna almost wanted to cry. Why couldn’t he understand that she had been trying to help, that she wanted to volunteer, that she needed this, and that asking too many questions would undo the fragile cloak of self-confidence she had managed to pull around herself on the drive here?

Josh walked out the door, and Donna hurriedly followed him as he went down the hallway.

“I’m Donna Moss; I drove here from Madison, Wisconsin,” she said again.

“When did your boyfriend break up with you?” Josh said sardonically.

Donna froze inside. Was she really that pathetic and predictable? Had Josh seen so many girls who came in begging for a job because their boyfriends had just broken their hearts that he could spot them a mile away? _This is unbelievable. My life is one giant cliché._

“What makes you think my boyfriend broke up with me?” she retorted, doing her best to sound annoyed by the idea.

“Well, you’re too old for your parents to have kicked you out of the house,” Josh answered teasingly.

“I’m here because I want to work for Bartlet,” Donna said seriously. “I’m a college graduate with a degree in Political Science and Government.” _There are those lies again. My mother is reaching for the soap as we speak._

“Where did you graduate?” Josh asked abruptly, and Donna was momentarily thrown.

“Hmm?”

“Where did you graduate?”

Helplessly, Donna realized that she would have to come clean. She wasn’t any good at dissembling, much less outright lying, and for some strange reason she wanted to be honest with Josh. If she wanted to work for him, the least she could do was tell him the truth. _Well, at least some of the truth._

“Okay, when I said I graduated –“

“Yeah?”

 “- I may have been overstating a little,” she said self-deprecatingly.

“Look –” Josh began indignantly.

“I - I was a couple of credits short,” Donna said desperately. _Please let him believe me._

“From where?”

“The University of Wisconsin.” _That, at least, is true._

“You majored in Political Science and Government?”

“And, um, Sociology and Psychology.” _Also true, but why did I tell him that?_

“Uh-huh,” Josh said knowingly.

“And Biology for a while, with a minor in French,” Donna went on. _Stop talking, Donna, stop talking now. He doesn’t need to know your life story._ “And drama.”

“You had five majors and two minors in four years?” Josh said in amazement.

“Two years,” Donna answered. _I clearly need to develop an edit button. Why am I telling him these things? It’s nerves. It has to be nerves._

“Okay, listen –” Josh started, and Donna could hear the dismissal implicit in the words.

“I had to drop out. I had to drop out,” she said painfully, following him back into his office. She stood at his desk with her hands twisted together, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t tell her to leave.

“Your boyfriend was older than you?” Josh asked bluntly, and Donna winced against the clenching in her chest.

“I think that question is of a personal nature . . .?” she challenged him timidly.

His lips turned up, and Donna realized that his face really was very kind, despite the cynicism of his conversation.

“Donna,” he said with humor, “you were just at my desk, reading my calendar, answering my phone, and hoping I wouldn’t notice that I never hired you. Your boyfriend was older?

_He has a point. I invaded his privacy before he invaded mine,_ Donna conceded mentally.

“Yes,” she agreed shortly.

“Law student?”

“Medical student,” she corrected.

“And the idea was that you’d drop out and pay the bills ‘til he was done with his residency?”

“Yes,” she acknowledged, her voice still edgy.

“And did you?”

“Yes.”

“And why did Dr. Freeride break up with you?” Josh questioned mockingly.

Donna was irrationally irritated at the cocky, shrewd look in Josh’s eyes. He knew; he knew about men like Mike and how they treated women, and he knew exactly why she had come here and exactly how impulsive it had been. He seemed to sympathize with her, but he also had seen this pattern before, and she wanted desperately to be angry with him for it.

She couldn’t quite manage it. She was angry at Mike, and angry at herself, too, but none of that was Josh’s fault.

Still, pride demanded something. “What makes you think he broke up with me?” she responded indignantly, if not altogether convincingly.

Josh simply looked at her, and his clear gaze took all of the pride and posing out of her with its openness. She sat down, suddenly feeling embarrassed and humiliated. Josh put his fingers to the bridge of his nose, rubbing the spot between his eyes.

“Donna, this is a campaign for the presidency, and there’s nothing I take more seriously than that,” he said. “This can’t be a place for people to come to find their confidence and start over.”

“Why not?’ Donna argued, looking directly at him for the first time in their conversation.

Josh paused; she had surprised him with her bluntness.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

“Why can’t it be those things?” she pressed, feeling that at last she had found a valid point.

“Because -”

“What, is it going to interfere with my typing?” she asked, slightly sarcastically.

Josh evidently didn’t know how to respond to that, but as he got up from his desk he seemed to make a decision.

“Donna, we’re picking up today and going to South Carolina; if you want to stay in the Manchester office –“

“I want to come to Charleston,” Donna pleaded. He was giving her a chance to help him; if he left her in the Manchester office it would all be for nothing.

“I can’t carry you, Donna; I’ve got a lot of guys out there not making the trip.” 

“I’ll pay my own way,” she asserted. _He’s doing this against his own better judgment; he knows that it might not be a good idea, but he has compassion. I have to get this right. I want to work for him. I can’t stay here and be on the periphery of the campaign, not when he’s the one person to have offered me a lifeline._

“With what?” Josh demanded.

“I’ll sleep on the floor; I’ll sell my car; eventually you’re going to put me on salary,” Donna returned. _Dedication has to mean something, Josh; can’t you see that I’m willing to do anything to have this?_

“Donna –”

“Look,” Donna interrupted him. She closed her eyes and took a breath, trying to convey her sincerity. “I think I can be good at this. I think you might find me valuable.”

The phone rang. They looked at each other for a long minute before Josh gave in. “Go ahead,” he said.

Donna returned his gaze for a moment more before picking up the handset, trying to say thank you with her eyes.

“Bartlet for America; Josh Lyman’s office,” she said into the receiver. “Uh, yes. I think I’m going to have somebody from the press office get back to you if it relates to – yes. Uh, yes.”

Josh watched her for a moment before pulling “Staff” tag from around his own neck and handing it to her. Donna felt a smile blossom across her face, and she gave him a grateful, happy look as she kept talking, receiving a smile in return before he left.

* * *

Sam was waiting at the end of the hallway when Josh came out of his office. He watched curiously as Josh handed his staff tag to a tall blonde woman who was talking on his phone. He had no idea who she was, but she gave Josh a smile that made her face light up as though it were Christmas morning.

“Hey,” Josh said as he reached Sam.

“Hey,” Sam responded. “Who was that?”

“Who was who?” Josh responded distractedly. He was already on to the next thing, Sam saw, which for him involved making calls and ensuring that their office in South Carolina was ready to be opened up when they arrived tomorrow.

“The girl in your office,” Sam replied, trying to bring Josh back to the present.

“Oh, that’s – Donna,” Josh answered, hesitating a moment over the name. “She’s my assistant.”

“Since when did you hire an assistant?” Sam asked.

“Actually, she kind of hired herself,” Josh said in bewilderment. “I don’t entirely understand it.”

Sam laughed. “So a girl planted herself in your office, spent the afternoon answering your phone, and talked her way into being your assistant?”

Josh stopped in his progress toward Mandy’s desk and turned to look at Sam, his puzzlement clear on his face. “Yeah.”

“Well, isn’t that adorable,” Sam grinned.

Josh gave Sam a halfhearted glare. “Just to clarify a couple of things here, I didn’t technically hire her; she’s volunteering. She’s paying her own way to South Carolina by selling her car. I am not spending campaign funds. And she’s an assistant, Sam, not a girl I picked up in a bar.”

“Oaky, okay, point taken,” Sam said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Would you pick her up in a bar?” he said after a moment.

“Sam!”

“Josh, relax; I’m just giving you a hard time,” Sam said, chuckling. “I’m glad if she can help, and frankly it will be a miracle if she can put up with you for more than a week.”

“Hey!” Josh said indignantly. “Don’t you have a speech to write or something?”

“As a matter of fact I don’t, which is why I was waiting for you,” Sam replied. “What do you need me to do? I’m packed up and so is Toby, so if you need some help, I’m glad to lend a hand.”

“Actually, I hate to ask you to do this, but I need to make some calls before we leave, and my office is still a disaster,” Josh said. “I’m sure Donna’s very efficient, but if you could help her pack away the folders without making it look like you’re, you know, helping . . .”

“You want me to make sure that nothing to do with polling data and opposition research gets lost in the transfer?” Sam filled in.

“Yeah,” Josh said, relieved. “Plus, it will let her meet someone else here; I don’t know who she’s talked to, but she’s never worked a campaign before, and it doesn’t sound like she’s had the easiest time of it.”

“No problem,” Sam said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m on my way. You make sure we have an office to go to tomorrow.”

“Thanks!” Josh said as he appropriated the phone on Mandy’s desk.

Sam waved in acknowledgement and headed back to Josh’s office, interested in spite of himself. There were very few people who could talk their way past Josh, and for this new assistant to have accomplished it meant that she was unique in some way. Josh had a tough exterior, but Sam knew better than anyone that he had a soft heart, and something about Donna had caught his attention.

 


	10. Bartlet for America - Donna, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing belonging to _The West Wing_ ; it all belongs to NBC, Aaron Sorkin, et al. I write these stories purely for enjoyment; no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> **Author’s Note:** As always, thanks to my wonderful beta for this story, lcf328.

Chapter Nine: Bartlet for America – Donna, Part Two

 

Donna was on the phone when Sam reached the doorway of Josh’s office for the second time. To give her time to finish her conversation, he leaned against the doorway and just observed her.

She _was_ efficient; Sam saw that immediately. No matter how new Donna was to campaigning, she clearly had office experience. She was paging through Josh’s calendar and taking notes on a message pad as though she‘d been doing it all her life. As Sam watched, she reached over to one of the piles of file folders, picked one up, discarded it, and then flipped open the next, apparently having found what she needed.

_I wonder what her story is_ , Sam mused. _If this isn’t what she was trained to do, she’s certainly done it enough that she makes it look easy._

Donna hung up the phone before Sam could ponder any more, and she turned to him with an inquiring smile. Sam caught the hesitation in her expression; she had made it past Josh, but she was still incredibly nervous.

“Hi,” he said, reaching out a hand and smiling. “I’m Sam Seaborn.”

“Donna Moss,” Donna replied, shaking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Sam said. “I just wanted to introduce myself; I’m working with Toby.”

Sam intentionally left out his campaign title; he wanted to put Donna at ease, and brandishing his authority at her was not going to accomplish that.

_What little authority I have as a junior speechwriter_ , Sam silently reminded himself, mocking his own momentary egotism.

“So you’re a speechwriter?” Donna said curiously, and Sam grinned wryly at the verbal mirroring of his thoughts.

“I am,” he acknowledged. “Though sometimes Toby would beg to differ.”

 Donna laughed, then clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh at you. I just . . . Toby seems like a very intense person. I can imagine he would be hard to please if you’re trying to write with him.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Sam told her. “And ‘hard to please’ is a massive understatement when describing Toby – but you’re not going to be any better off, you know. Josh is relentless when it comes to campaigning.”

“Yes, I’ve gotten that impression,” Donna said, her face relaxing again and her eyes crinkling in amusement.

 “Where are you from?” Sam asked her, doing his best to keep the friendly conversation going. He reached unobtrusively for a pile of folders on the desk and beginning to flip through them, trying to separate the necessary from the unnecessary. Sorting anything that Josh had compiled was always difficult; he tended to scribble important notes in the margins of memos, stick post-it notes containing names and numbers on top of meaningless faxes, and mix polling data with fast-food menus. Some of it was important and some of it was useless, but the trick was knowing what was what.

“Wisconsin,” Donna told him. “I spent the last three days driving up here because I wanted to come and work for the campaign.”

Sam stopped his sorting in surprise, looking at her appreciatively. “That’s impressive. We usually only get local volunteers.”

“Not really,” Donna contradicted him. “It was impulsive; I just wanted to do something good, for a change. But now that I’m here, I’d really like to stay,” she finished earnestly, sending Sam another smile.

Sam frowned mentally. Something wasn’t right here; Donna was a beautiful woman and clearly a sweet person, but she was . . . scared. Something in her demeanor was ringing alarm bells in his head. She reminded Sam of a deer, beautiful and trusting, but ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger or the smallest reprimand. What had happened to her?

_Trust her_ , his mind supplied. _Show her that you trust her, that she can be useful_.

“Okay,” Sam said, reaching for another stack of files. “If you’re sure you want to be part of the insanity that is this campaign” – and he felt a surge of satisfaction when Donna grinned – “then I am going to show you some secrets that will help. Deal?”

“Deal,” Donna nodded, and her eyes were sparkling.

“Josh sent me in here to talk to you, but also to sort his files, because he’s too busy, he hates doing it anyway, and I am one of the few people who understand his system,” Sam summarized quickly. “If you can keep his files in order and actually find things for him, you will never be out of a job.”

“I could use some job security at the moment,” Donna said, and this time her laugh was genuine and pure.

“The key is knowing what’s important,” Sam said, echoing his earlier thoughts as he flipped open the top file on the stack. “Often, what _isn’t_ on the memos is just as important as what’s on the memos. Polling data and opposition research are crucial, but Josh will take notes on just about anything, from post-its to random scraps of paper. Keeping his notes with the right memos is never an easy thing. Ignore the fast-food menus unless they have notes on them; ignore the faxes from the historical preservation societies and the local ladies’ auxiliaries.”

“It doesn’t occur to Josh to type up his notes and staple them to the memo?” Donna asked, rolling her eyes in amusement.

“Never in a million years,” Sam said, grinning in his turn.

“So how is it that you know Josh’s system so well, especially since he doesn’t seem to bother to learn it himself?” Donna questioned.

Sam chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. “We’ve been friends a long time; I think of it as osmosis."

That was the easy answer. The true answer was much more complicated, far more complicated than he could explain to Donna, who had only met him five minutes ago and who knew none of the history that he and Josh shared. The truth was that understanding Josh’s cryptic sense of organization was a skill he had never lost, once he had acquired it – and it had taken him all of two weeks to acquire it. He saw the files as a reflection of the mind that had created them. Josh remembered and utilized more facts than anyone Sam knew, save perhaps Leo, and his mind was like a particularly complex puzzle, with pieces connecting in unexpected and yet brilliant ways. Two facts that might initially appear unrelated were suddenly revealed to be vital to one another, and two clearly related facts were often implemented in a strategy where, initially, they didn’t seem to belong. Sam understood the files because he understood Josh. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

They worked in tandem for the next few minutes, Donna pausing occasionally to ask Sam about a particularly cryptic note or oddly placed bit of scrawl. It wasn’t until they were about halfway through the stack of files that Sam ventured to ask another question.

“Have you always been interested in politics?” he ventured. “You said driving up here was impulsive, but you seem to catch on very quickly.”

Donna blushed and then paled, her shoulders tightening, and Sam knew immediately that he has said the wrong thing, though he had no idea why.

“No,” she answered, self-consciousness and bitterness coloring her tone. “I don’t know much at all about politics, really. I’m a pretty quick study.”

 “Well, that’s something that will definitely come in handy,” Sam said gently, trying to make Donna comfortable again. “Campaigns move fast, and learning to adapt to every new location is something that can take some people a long time to learn.”

Donna tried to smile at him, but it was strained. “I think seeing new places will be exciting,” she said. “I’ve lived in Wisconsin my whole life, and I’ve traveled a little, but there’s so much of the country I haven’t seen. It will be wonderful to meet different kinds of people.”

_What – or who – are you running from, Donna Moss?_ Sam wondered to himself. She was running, that much was clear, but Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to know why.

Aloud, he said, “That’s always been one of my favorite things, too – that and the food,” he added with a chuckle. “You eat a painful amount of take out on campaigns, but the different kinds of food are wonderful. Nothing beats fried chicken that’s actually made in Georgia.”

Donna actually giggled at his declaration, and it made Sam turn to her in surprise. “What?”

“You,” she said, still giggling. “You look like you’ve never eaten fried chicken in your life.”

“Thank goodness for that. I work very hard to keep it that way,” Sam bantered back, and Donna laughed again.

“Someday I will make my mother’s fried chicken recipe for you, Sam Seaborn, and then you will never say another word about fried chicken from Georgia,” she retorted.

“I look forward to it,” Sam said, raising his eyebrows in challenge. “We’ll see if you can make me a believer.”

It dispelled the awkward moment, Donna looked happy once more, and their conversation stayed on easier topics from then on. Sam wasn’t going to push Donna for information she wasn’t ready to give, but he hoped that he could help her heal in some way.

_Maybe all she really needs is a friend._

 

 


	11. BFA: The South Carolina Primary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing belonging to _The West Wing_ ; it all belongs to NBC, Aaron Sorkin, et al. I write these stories purely for enjoyment; no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> **Author’s Note:** Once again, my grateful thanks to lcf328 – and a huge thank you and welcome also to my second beta, thebreakfastgenie. They have been tremendously helpful and encouraging, particularly because I was so worried about picking up this story again. There is, for the first time, some interaction between Josh and Noah in this chapter, and some further conversation and friendship development between Sam and Donna. I have looked up South Carolina’s primary sources of income as a state, but beyond that I am simply using trends that have been occurring nationwide in the farming industry; I do not know to what extent agribusiness has made its way into S. C.
> 
> This chapter has been a long, long time in coming, and I can only plead several excuses: new job, major move, family emergencies, brutal schedule (70-90-hour work weeks), and lack of inspiration. It has been almost _four years_ , all. I can't believe that. I have been seeing a lot of WW material on Tumblr, though, and have been thinking about Sorkin again thanks to The Newsroom and all of the associated chatter. I also got some lovely comments from Zayrastriel that inspired me, and a wonderful review and nudge from coupdepam to continue this story. I am hoping that the next few chapters will be up relatively quickly. (And oh, the next chapter is the Illinois Primary, which I have about two-thirds written. I am so nervous! These few new chapters involve a lot of setup for things that happen later, and I am so desperate to get them right.)

Chapter Ten: Bartlet for America – The South Carolina Primary

 

_Toby: So, Hoynes will be in a fight with Wiley for a strong second place finish in New Hampshire; meantime we’re going to be in South Carolina, and we’re going to be the only ones there._

_Bartlet: We’re not going to beat Hoynes in South Carolina._

_Toby: We don’t have to beat Hoynes in South Carolina._

_C. J.: We just have to beat Wiley._

_Bartlet: Wiley’s going to drop out after South Carolina?_

_Leo: If he doesn’t finish higher than third._

_Bartlet: Are we going to get his endorsement?_

_Leo: We’re going to get his money, that’s for sure._

_~ Episode 2.2, “In the Shadow of Two Gunmen, Pt. II”_

* * *

 

  _Charleston, SC. April._

 

“ . . . We are now prepared to project that Senator John Hoynes has won the South Carolina primary, with Governor Jed Bartlet finishing a surprising second and coming in ahead of Senator Thomas Wiley . . .”

The room erupted in cheers, and Josh clenched his fist in victory, relief washing over him like a wave. They had done it; they had beat Wiley. He would drop out of the race, and his money would come to their campaign. For the first time, they had a legitimate shot at winning.

Sam came over to him, grinning widely, and the pair of them exchanged a hug. “Way to go,” Sam said warmly, and Josh shook his head a little, glancing around the room before focusing on Sam.

“It wasn’t just me,” he said. “We’ve all worked hard for this – you, Mandy, Toby, C. J. We’ve all worked hard for this.”

“Yes, but I’m here because you asked me to be, and this campaign exists because of you and Leo,” Sam said quietly. “I’ll never forget that, Josh.”

Josh nodded seriously for only a moment, acknowledging Sam’s gratitude, and then his smile erupted again and he playfully shoved Sam’s shoulder. “Go find us some beer, would you?” he said, waving Sam toward the fridge in the back of the office. “We should be celebrating!”

Sam grinned. “On my way.”

Josh’s cell phone rang as Sam was walking away, and he flipped it open instinctively. “Josh Lyman.”

“Josh!” his father’s voice exclaimed, and Josh grinned again, euphoria filling him like electricity. “Congratulations! I knew you could do it!”

“You and Sam,” Josh laughed. “You both act as if this is all my doing. Leo and the Governor play some part in it too, you know.”

“Leo has no idea what he’s doing,” Noah Lyman said dismissively, teasing. “He needs you around to keep him in line.”

“Of course he does,” Josh said, still amused. “His decades in politics don’t really amount to anything.”

“Nah,” Noah said, and Josh could hear the ribbing through the phone, could picture his father’s face as he talked about his old friend.

“Have you talked to Leo yet, Dad? Do you want me to get him?” Josh asked.

“I will talk to him, but I wanted to talk to you first. I am so proud of you, Josh,” Noah said. “I know Leo had to convince you to come onto this campaign, but once you did you were in it with everything you had, and look where you are. You all just came in second in South Carolina! Given where you started, that’s as good as winning the state.”

“I wasn’t sure we could do it,” Josh confessed, his relief coming to the fore. His father was one of the only people who heard Josh’s doubts on a regular basis, and Noah had known how worried he was about this particular primary. “If we hadn’t beat Wiley here, I don’t know if we would have been able to keep going, and he was making a pretty solid run of it up until the last couple of days.”

“Bartlet had him after the debate, really,” Noah said reflectively. “I didn’t think Wiley could win it after that.”

“Really?” Josh said in surprise. “He was pretty steady in the polls . . .”

“Yes, but he didn’t win the debate, not by a long shot,” Noah insisted. “The Governor took him apart when it came to agribusiness; Wiley underestimated the importance of farming crops in South Carolina. Tourism is the state’s primary source of income, but farming is a close second. Small farmers are suffering, and they don’t like the fact that agribusiness is taking over their cotton, tobacco, and soybean production. They can’t afford to compete with the big firms, and those same big firms are environmentally unsound.”

“Yeah, but those same small farmers want to make as much money as they can,” Josh said dubiously. “I wasn’t sure how they would take to the environmental argument; they aren’t organic farmers from New York or Massachusetts.”

His father chuckled. “No, but Bartlet won them over all the same. You could hear it in the way they applauded; he was talking to them in their own economic terms, and they liked it.”

“Well, I knew the fact that he was an economist was going to come in handy at some point,” Josh said facetiously.

“You’ve got a winner there, Josh,” Noah said firmly. “I know he’s not the easiest person to warm up to – Leo’s told me that much; even though they’re so close, he’s more than willing to acknowledge the Governor’s faults – but he’s clearly intelligent and determined and charismatic. Just keep doing your job, and tell Sam he should do the same.”

“I will,” Josh promised. “How are you feeling, Dad?”

Noah hesitated, but then, “Tired,” he acknowledged with a sigh. “Chemo takes it out of you. My CBCs are holding steady, though, so that’s a good thing. And your mother fusses over me to an almost irritating extent after every treatment,” he added wryly, but Josh heard the undercurrent of fondness and love in his tone.

“I should call her,” Josh murmured guiltily, his conscience prickling as he thought of the burden his mother was having to carry, taking care of his father almost entirely singlehanded. His parents had many friends, but Josh knew his mother would refuse to let anyone else help most of the time.

His father heard the guilt, though Josh had done his best to suppress it. “Josh,” he said firmly, “I’m fine. Your mother works too hard, but she’s doing all right, and I keep pushing her to get out of the house and take care of herself. We both know that you are where you need to be – don’t feel guilty when you’re doing something that is so tremendously important.”

Josh swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. “I’ll try,” he said, a little hoarsely. “I love you, Dad. Give Mom my love, too.”

“We love you, too, Joshua,” Noah said warmly. “Go out there and take Illinois by storm.”

“Okay,” Josh said, his heart just a little lighter. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll call soon.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Noah said, and the line clicked as his father hung up.

Josh exhaled slowly as he put his phone back in his pocket, trying to get a grip on the fear that reared its head every time he spoke to Noah.  His mother and father had repeatedly insisted that they didn’t want Josh to put his life on hold for Noah’s illness, but there were still moments when he wondered if he had made the right choice. Life in Washington tended to exclude everyone and everything else, but worry was ingrained into Josh. No matter how strong his father was, how strong his parents were, it hurt Josh that his work kept him away, and he wasn’t able to be there for them.

He hoped that what they had accomplished tonight gave his father one more thing to live for.

* * *

 

Sam made his way over to one of the small refrigerators at the side of the room, his skin buzzing from the happiness and excitement in the room. God, it felt good to be here – a few months ago, no one would ever have predicted that Bartlet would reach second place in South Carolina, and now everyone was talking about their “insurgent” campaign.

From Sam’s perspective, of course, it was anything but insurgent. Everyone, from the Governor and Leo on down to the interns, had worked incredibly hard to get the campaign to this point. Winning the voters over was partially a game of chance, but it was also partly because they had an intellectual and compelling candidate with a dedicated staff – and it didn’t hurt that the Governor was willing to tell the truth and call out his opponents on their lies and their hypocritical positions. Governor Bartlet could be an incredibly frustrating man to work with – and his tendency to extemporize in speeches had given Sam and Toby some headaches – but he was also inspirational.

_Josh made the right choice_ , Sam thought as he looked over at his friend. Josh was on the phone with someone, probably his father from his expression, and looked happier than Sam had seen him since Sam had shown up in Nashua. Josh had followed his heart, and once again his unerring political instincts were paying off. They were Leo’s political instincts, too, and Sam had an incredible amount of respect for the former Labor Secretary – but he wouldn’t have come running if it had been Leo who showed up at Gage Whitney.

Sam pulled two beers from the fridge and opened them, and when he turned around he found Donna coming up behind him.

“Hey,” he said, shooting her an easy grin. “What would you like?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine, Sam,” Donna demurred, giving him a shy smile, and Sam frowned.

“You should be celebrating, Donna! We just eliminated a candidate that no one thought we would be able to beat; there is no better reason on earth to get a little tipsy,” he teased.

Donna’s smile was a little easier this time, but she still tucked a piece of hair behind her ear nervously. “I’m happy we won, Sam, but really – just a Diet Coke, please,” she said, and Sam studied her.

“Okay,” he said, his voice suddenly determined. He reached back into the fridge, pulled out a twenty ounce Diet Coke and handed it to Donna, then gently took her elbow and steered her into the furthest corner of the hotel suite, away from the television and most of the campaign staff. He spotted C. J. and hailed her, pushing Josh’s beer into her hands.

“C. J., can you give that to Josh and tell him I’ll be there in a few minutes?” he asked, and C. J. gave him a quizzical look but nodded, her gaze flickering from Sam to Donna in speculation before she headed toward their deputy campaign director. Sam turned back to Donna and smiled, reminding himself that Donna was his friend and she needed to feel safe, not threatened, no matter how much he wanted to give a piece of his mind to whomever had hurt her.

“Look,” he said earnestly, “you and I are friends, right?”

Startled, Donna knit her brows but nodded.  “I’d like to think we are, yes,” she answered. “We haven’t known each other very long, but I like you.”

“I like you, too, and I never betray my friends’ confidences, Donna,” Sam said, feeling gratified as Donna’s real smile started to appear on her face. “You can tell me.”

Donna cringed, the half-smile vanishing and her shoulders hunching inward even as she tried to hide it. “Tell you what?”

 “Who it was that hurt you before you started working for the campaign,” Sam stated seriously. “Why you left a month ago, and why you came back.”

Donna opened her mouth and then closed it again, seemingly at a loss over whether to tell the truth or evade his questions, and Sam decided to press his point.

“I know someone hurt you, Donna, but only because I know what it looks like,” Sam said, trying to reassure her. “It was someone you were with in Wisconsin?”

Donna nodded slowly. “His name was Mike. We were together for three years.”

Sam reached forward and carefully, so carefully, laid a hand on Donna’s forearm. “Did he abuse you?”

Donna’s lips trembled, and she tried to turn the grimace into a smile but couldn’t manage it. “Not physically, but in just about every other way.”

She paused, opening her soda and taking a swallow before looking back at Sam. “He, um – he was a medical resident, and I left college to support him, with the understanding that he would help pay for the remainder of my degree when his residency was over. We both worked a lot of hours, and I should have seen how things were deteriorating, but – I didn’t,” Donna said haltingly. “He didn’t take me on dates anymore; he said I didn’t do enough to look pretty for him, but he never noticed when I tried; he said I didn’t really want to go back to school or I would have done it on my own.”

“I’m so sorry,” Sam said sympathetically, his voice low.

“Just before I came to the Manchester office, I found out he had been having an affair with a cardio surgeon for three months,” Donna said tersely, her words clipped as if she was trying to keep back the emotion behind them. “He left me, so I left Wisconsin. But then – when I left again, when I went back to him a month ago – he had broken up with the surgeon, and he promised things would be better, and I missed him, so –”

“You went back,” Sam filled in. “And it wasn’t better.”

“It wasn’t,” Donna said miserably. “It seemed to be, at first – we went out on dates again, and I started looking into going back to school – but I realized that he was really treating me the same as before. He still didn’t think I would succeed at school; he didn’t care about all the work I had done on the campaign. He didn’t see it as valuable. He still thought I was just there to do whatever he wanted.”

“What made you come back?” Sam questioned.

“I was in a car accident and ended up in the emergency room,” Donna explained, her voice brittle. “When he came to pick me up, he stopped to have a beer with his friends. One beer apparently turned into three or four, because he was half drunk when he finally got to the hospital. Hence the Diet Coke,” she added, indicating her can with a little grimace. “Beer isn’t really my thing right now. So I broke up with him, for good this time, and came back,” she finished, lifting her chin defiantly, as if daring Sam to judge her. “Even I have some self-respect, little though it may be.”

“You know that none of what he said is true, and none of what he did is your fault,” Sam told her gently, wishing he could hug her. He wasn’t sure if she would accept it, though, and he didn’t want her to regret opening up to him.

“I know,” Donna acknowledged, the anger draining out of her. Sam could empathize with both the anger and the fatigue; he had been in that mental space himself a few months ago. “Well, in my head, I know. But it’s really hard to let go of someone you built your entire life around for three years. I can’t reconcile the Mike I thought I loved with the one who did those horrible things.”

Sam took a drink of his beer, rolling it between his palms for a minute before responding. “I was with Lisa for six years,” he said finally. “Neither of us intentionally hurt each other, there were no affairs, but - there were things we each needed that we couldn’t give each other, and that hurt us both.”

Donna studied him, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “You haven’t talked about this. I’ve heard C. J. and Toby wondering. We all knew you broke up with your fiancée, but you don’t talk about why. Why are you telling me?”

“Because sometimes, even when you love the person you’re with, there are things that are fundamentally incompatible,” Sam answered, his own smile rueful. “Even if Mike hadn’t had the affair, do you think you would have stayed with him, if things had continued as they were?”

“No,” Donna said quietly. “I wasn’t happy, not anymore.”

“You need to learn to be happy again,” Sam said, giving her a nudge with his shoulder. “Not everyone is going to pick your confidence to pieces or make you feel bad about yourself the way he did. Friends don’t do that. Colleagues who respect you don’t do that. They don’t take advantage of your generosity, either. And you don’t have to feel ashamed of being happy over something you helped to accomplish.”

Donna started to smile again. “I’ve helped?”

Sam stared at her. “Are you kidding? I thought Josh was going to start playing the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ when you came back. He’s incapable of running his own office. For one, he has no aptitude for that kind of organization. For another, he has too many other things to run. He drove the interns crazy while you were gone – and he wouldn’t say it, but it was partly because none of them were you. You do a very good job here, Donna.”

Donna really smiled then, and Sam cheered mentally. “Thank you,” she said, and Sam smiled back.

“Don’t forget it,” he teased her.

“I’ll try not to,” Dona promised.

“Good,” Sam said emphatically. “Now go find Toby or C. J. or Mandy and have some fun! I have to find Josh – a celebratory beer after a win or a big milestone is kind of a tradition of ours.”

Donna took about three steps and then turned back. “Sam,” she asked cautiously, “how did you know . . . what it looks like?”

Sam’s expression became solemn again. “It’s a long story. Ask me again another time,” he answered, and Donna nodded in understanding.

“Would you please not tell Josh?” she requested, almost in a whisper. “He knows about the money and that Mike broke up with me the first time, but I didn’t tell him the rest. He just assumed Mike dumped me again when I came back, and I didn’t correct him. Please? I really want to prove myself in this job, Sam, and I don’t want him to pity me any more than he already does.”

“I don’t betray my friends’ confidences, Donna,” Sam repeated firmly. “Not even to Josh. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Donna gave him another little smile before heading over to where Mandy and C. J. were chatting on the other side of the room, and Sam sat for a few minutes in silence, drinking his beer and mulling over what he had just learned.

Then, however, Josh appeared at his elbow, still holding the beer that C. J. had passed on to him and bringing Sam back from his musings.

“Hey,” Josh said brightly, holding out his bottle for a toast.

“Hey,” Sam said back, clinking his beer against Josh’s. “Congratulations!”

“We did it,” Josh said with a satisfied smile. “Somehow, we actually came in second in South Carolina.”

“It’s a pretty amazing feeling,” Sam agreed. “You were on the phone with your dad?”

“Yeah, he was really excited,” Josh admitted with a grin. “He told me to tell you to keep doing your job, no matter how irritating the Governor becomes.”

Sam laughed. “That sounds like him. It’s good advice, too. I plan on doing exactly that.”

“What were you and Donna talking about?” Josh asked curiously. “You both looked pretty serious.”

“She’s just trying to get her feet under her again, Josh,” Sam said casually. “I think she wants to make sure she’s doing a good job, and she’s not going to come right out and ask you when you’re her boss.”

“She’s doing fine,” Josh acknowledged breezily. “ _I_ would have been doing better if she had never _left_ ,” he said pointedly, “but she’s doing fine.”

“Hey,” Sam chastised him, digging an elbow into Josh’s side. “She’s back now; don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Josh said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Although I’d like to get my hands on Dr. Freeride and strangle him.”

“Here’s to that,” Sam said, holding up his bottle again, and they toasted again in salute.

* * *

 

“I told him Hoynes was going to try and kill us on national defense,” Mandy said crossly. “I was right. We got trounced.”

“We did,” C. J. acknowledged. “At least on that issue. But we’re also in the South, with a capital S – we knew that was going to happen.”

“I knew it was going to happen, and I tried to warn Josh, Leo, and the governor, and I was ignored,” Mandy retorted. “We can’t keep letting this happen; the governor is a good man, but he has to find some way to talk about national defense without sounding like he’s afraid of it.”

C. J. frowned. “I don’t think he _is_ afraid of it,” she said slowly. “Wanting to exhaust other solutions isn’t being afraid; it’s being a diplomat. It’s being a leader who looks to keep peace with other countries and within our borders.”

Mandy shook her head. “It makes him look weak to voters who want to see a more aggressive foreign policy stance from the U. S.”

C. J. smiled a little. “Mandy, we’ll have a chance to revisit this,” she said placatingly. “We just won South Carolina! We should be celebrating.”

“You’d better hope we do,” Mandy shot back before taking a sip of her beer.

“The governor did really well on veteran’s issues,” C. J. pointed out. “Better than Hoynes. Bartlet may not win over people when it comes to how and when we go to war, but he knows how to win them over when it comes to taking care of our armed forces and their families. That has to count for something.”

Donna came over to the pair of them at that moment, and C. J. shot her a winning smile, along with a pleading look. _Please help me_ , she implored silently. Donna acknowledged the look with a smile of her own.

“So I have a question,” she began promptly. “Is it possible Sam is flirting with me?”

Mandy almost choked on her beer. “It’s, um, it’s possible,” she said, coughing a little bit. “But you tend to know if Sam is flirting with you; he’s pretty obvious about it and not terribly good at it.”

Donna chuckled. “Well, the thing is,” she said shyly, “he’s been really nice to me since we both started working the campaign, and he seems to be reaching out and trying to be my friend, but – I don’t know if that’s just how he is? Or if he’s looking for more than friendship? My – my last relationship didn’t end very well, and I’m out of practice.”

C. J. looked at her sympathetically, but then grinned. “Well, I haven’t known Sam as long as Mandy,” she began, “but he’s kind of a naturally charming guy, and part of his problem seems to be that he doesn’t _know_ he’s being charming or flirty when he often is. He just kind of exudes it; it’s a little ridiculous that someone can be so attractive without trying.”

Mandy laughed, nodding. “It’s true. When Sam _tries_ to flirt he’s terrible at it; he tries too hard and ends up being incredibly awkward. He doesn’t seem to get the fact that people find him attractive whether or not he tries!”

“ _Do_ you find him attractive?” C. J. asked keenly.

Donna blushed. “Well, yes, I mean – who wouldn’t? But no. He seems like a wonderful person, and I’m very glad to have him as a friend, but I’m really not looking to get into anything right now. Based on what you’ve both said, I think he is just being friendly, and I’m relieved, honestly.”

Mandy’s face softened. “That bad, huh?”

“It was pretty bad,” Donna acknowledged quietly.

Mandy nodded. “Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think Sam is trying to get into anything,” she said decisively. “He was with his fiancée for six years, and he’s the type of person who gets really quiet when he gets hurt. He’s said almost nothing about breaking up with Lisa, so if I know Sam at all, he’s not looking to replace her any time soon. And he’s not at all the type to indulge in flings.”

Donna breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness. That makes me feel so much better. I like him very much as a person, but I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea, either.”

“I think you’re safe,” C. J. reassured her with a smile.

“His best friend, on the other hand, is in for a slow and painful death,” Mandy said determinedly, taking another swig of her beer.

Donna frowned, looking between the two other women. “What’s Josh done?”

C. J. rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t get her started again,” she said in exasperation. “Mandy thinks the governor is soft on national defense, and so she’s going to take it out on Josh because she can’t take it out on Bartlet.”

“He is soft on national defense!” Mandy retorted. “And we don’t need another reason for voters to dislike a liberal, New England intellectual!”

“But he’s . . . such a man of faith,” Donna said hesitantly. “Won’t that go quite a ways with Southern voters and more conservative Democrats?”

C. J. beamed at her. “It should.”

“You hope,” Mandy said seriously. “We all hope that it’s enough. But we need to get him out of churches and VFW halls, C. J. We need to get him into more universities and town halls and museums, places where voters would expect to see a Democrat speak. We need to get him with the UAW and the AFSE. The Left isn’t going to vote for him if they think he’s too conservative!”

“And all of the centrists aren’t going to vote for him if they think he’s too liberal,” C. J. rejoined. “We have to create a balance, Mandy.”

“Balance,” Mandy grumbled. “Where’s the fun in that?”

 


	12. Bartlet for America: The Illinois Primary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing belonging to _The West Wing_ ; it all belongs to NBC, Aaron Sorkin, et al. I write these stories purely for enjoyment; no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
>  **Author’s note:** Really long note this time, everyone! Sorry about that, but I wanted to cover a few things. I spent quite a bit of time trying to track down the origin of Leo’s line, “Act as if ye have faith, and faith shall be given to you,” which he uses in “In the Shadow of Two Gunmen.” As far as I can tell, this exact variation of this saying is credited to Rev. Dr. Samuel Shoemaker, who was a major contributor to the founding principles of Alcoholics Anonymous. The same version of the saying is also used in the 1982 Paul Newman movie _The Verdict_ (in which Paul Newman’s character is a lawyer and a recovering alcoholic). However, it is also a slightly simpler version of Mark 11:24: “For this reason I say to you, Whatever you make a request for in prayer, have faith that it has been given to you, and you will have it.”
> 
> Also, I’m doing a little bit of educated guesswork, here, about Leo knowing Noah longer than Jed. We know Leo fought in Vietnam, and that Jed did not – and that Jed was in London for at least part of the Vietnam War, studying at the London School of Economics. Leo states in 3.09 that he and Jed have known each other for 32 years, which would mean they met in about 1969. Also, Leo says to Josh, “That’s what sons do for old friends of their father’s,” which seems to imply that he’s known Josh since Josh was very young – and Josh had to have been about 35, give or take a year or two, during the first campaign, which would make his birth year 1961. So, it makes sense to me that Leo knew Noah before he knew Jed, hence his reaction to Noah’s death in this chapter.
> 
> Sam’s favorite writers are Toby and Dickens; see “The Stackhouse Filibuster.”
> 
> Finally – the entire scenario in which Josh and Sam meet, including the piece of it involving Matt Skinner, is intentionally somewhat parallel to the bar scene in 1.06, “Mr. Willis of Ohio.” The Alchemist & Barrister is an actual pub in Princeton, and as far as I can tell it has been in existence since at least the mid-eighties. All of it will come into play, one way or another, later in the story; I’ve had the broad outlines of this scene in my head since I started writing this thing five or six years ago. The Cap & Gown is one of the oldest and most famous Princeton eating clubs. I’m taking a little bit of liberty with their rules here, as I don’t know their policy about inviting outsiders.
> 
> My deepest and most heartfelt thanks to my two wonderful betas, lcf328 and thebreakfastgenie. I had multiple attacks of writer's jitters and an incredible amount of nervousness about this chapter, and they have been nothing but supportive and encouraging.

**Chapter Eleven: Bartlet for America – The Illinois Primary**

_Leo: I heard your dad was in the hospital again._

_Josh: Yeah. They put . . . they got it all this time._

_~Episode 2.01, “In the Shadow of Two Gunmen, Pt. I”_

* * *

_Josh: The President’s daughter, the Chief of Staff’s daughter, a Georgetown bar, and Sam. What could possibly go wrong?_

_~ Episode 1.06, “Mr. Willis of Ohio”_

* * *

_Skinner: Ask me the question, Josh!_

_Josh: How can you be a member of this party?!?_

_Skinner: You've been holding that in for way too long, man._

_Josh: This party who says that who you are is against the law._

_~Episode 2.07, “The Portland Trip”_  

* * *

 

Jed found Abbey as the room erupted into cheers over the television announcement. He tucked his hand into her elbow and gave her a smile, silently tugging her into the bedroom area of the hotel suite. He wanted just a small moment of privacy to share this victory with his wife. He was still reeling from the fact that they had won; no one, least of all himself, had expected that they would come this far.

Once they were safely away from the staffers, Abbey leaned up and kissed him soundly.

“Congratulations, Governor,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “How does it feel to have won the Illinois Primary?”

Jed smiled. “Amazing,” he said quietly. “A little surreal, too. How did we get here?”

“You have a very talented staff,” Abbey said solemnly. “And Leo is right. You were born to do this, Jed.”

“I’m not so sure,” Jed confessed. “I wasn’t so sure back in New Hampshire. Leo quoted the Book of Mark at me – well, the Book of Mark and Rev. Samuel Shoemaker.”

 “‘Act as if ye have faith . . .’?” Abbey clarified, and Jed nodded.

Abbey cupped his cheek in her palm. “I think the fact that you aren’t sure is precisely what makes you so qualified. You aren’t doing this because you wanted it for yourself; you’re doing this because you want to try and do what’s best for the country.”

“I . . . had things I wanted to say,” Jed said slowly. “I didn’t get into this wanting to be President – but I have hope for what this country could be, Abbey, and I was hoping some people would listen. I was hoping to plant ideas. I never dreamed we would be here.”

“I know you didn’t. I dreamed it for you,” Abbey said earnestly. “And I am so proud of you.”

She leaned in and kissed him again, but they were interrupted by a knock. Jed smiled at his wife apologetically before calling, “Come in!”

Leo entered, and Jed knew immediately that something was seriously wrong.  His old friend’s face was ashen, and his mouth set in the way that it only ever was when he had bad news to deliver.

“Leo! My God, you look awful,” Abbey exclaimed. “Sit down.” She hurried over and grabbed a chair for their campaign director, and Leo was distressed enough that he sank into it, and took the glass of water Abbey brought him a moment later.

“What’s happened, Leo?” Jed asked gently. Abbey pulled up a chair next to Leo and took his wrist, counting silently as Leo collected himself.

“Noah Lyman, Josh’s father, died a few hours ago,” Leo said, his voice rough with emotion. “Donna got the call; Josh is already packing. Cancer.”

“Oh, Leo,” Abbey said softly. “He was your friend, wasn’t he?”

“My oldest friend,” Leo confirmed. “I’ve known him even longer than you, sir,” he added, looking at Jed, “and he was an extraordinary man. Kind, wise, a consummate legal and political mind. Josh gets a lot of his talent from Noah.”

“I’m so sorry, Leo,” Jed murmured sympathetically. “You should go to the funeral. Josh will need you.”

Leo shook his head. “I can’t, sir. Josh has to go, but we can’t run this campaign without a director and a deputy director. Only one of us can be absent at a time, especially now. You have a victory speech to give, we have to go to California – it’s a terrible time to lose team members. Josh will go, and he’ll give my condolences to Judith. It’s enough.”

“How long had Noah been sick?” Jed asked.

“He was first diagnosed with prostate cancer a few years ago. They did chemo the first time, but the cancer came back and spread, and Noah had surgery just before I brought Josh to see you in Nashua,” Leo explained. He rubbed a hand over his face before continuing. “They thought they got it all, but he had to go back on chemo as a preventive measure. Apparently he had gone in for a session today and developed a blood clot.”

“Poor Josh,” Abbey said sympathetically. “He’s so young to lose a parent.”

“I want to go talk to him,” Jed said suddenly. “He shouldn’t be alone; I want to go talk to him.”

“Governor, we have to get you to your victory speech, sir,” Leo objected. “I can pass along your thoughts to Josh; I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

“You don’t have time; Jed; you’ll never make it to the ballroom in time if you go to the airport first,” Abbey said, trying to soothe him and reason with him at the same time.

“It won’t take that long,” Jed said, wondering as he did why he was pleading for this chance, when up to now he had interacted with Josh in ways that were polite at best and grumpy and dismissive at worst. “Please, Leo. Abbey. Someone should be there with him. Delay the speech for an hour and let me talk to him.”

Leo looked at his old friend and assessed the gravity and earnestness of his face before giving in. He knew that look; there was no turning Jed from a course when he really decided on something.

“All right,” he sighed. “I can’t argue with you; God knows Noah would be on your side. But _quickly_ , for heaven’s sake. I’ll go with you, and you can talk to Josh for five minutes.”

Abbey stood, squeezing Leo’s shoulder as she did so, then moving over and kissing her husband’s cheek. “I’ll meet you at the hall. I have to change.”

Jed nodded. “I’ll grab my coat and tie.”

The next few minutes were blurry for Jed. He found his suit coat and the tie he was planning to wear for the victory speech, and he absently followed Leo out to the car. He was struggling to identify all the emotions that were swirling around in his mind. Ten minutes ago he never would have thought he was attached enough to Josh Lyman to follow the boy to the airport after such devastating news; now he couldn’t imagine any other course of action.

His thoughts almost inevitably turned to Liz, Ellie, and Zoey. It was incredibly painful to think about what would happen to his daughters if he passed away. Their mother would help to keep them together, but he knew they would be devastated. Josh was considerably older than Zoey and Ellie, but it couldn’t be any less painful to lose a parent, someone so integral to your very being. Even when parents and children didn’t get along, parents never stopped defining you or creating expectations for you, good and bad. Based on what he had seen so far of Josh’s character, his parents must have been extraordinary people. It occurred to Jed to wonder how Josh’s mother would cope, and he tucked away a reminder in his mind to talk to Abbey about what they might send to Mrs. Lyman.

To see Leo so shaken was another difficult revelation; Jed was used to relying on Leo as a rock of steady council. In almost thirty years of friendship, he could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Leo lose his composure – and one or two of them had been at the hands of his addiction and not really under his control at all. For Leo to so openly display his grief was almost earth-shattering; based on that alone, Jed would have said that Noah Lyman was the rarest and most precious sort of friend.

What could he possibly say to Josh? How could he convey to Josh what it meant to him that Josh had left Hoynes’ campaign for him, an unknown candidate with (comparatively) minimal credentials? How could he let him know that he was cared about and valued, not just as a member of Jed’s team but as a son?

Jed knew, better than most, what it was like to doubt your own value after the death of a parent. He only hoped Josh didn’t fall into the same trap; he hoped that Josh’s mother (and Sam, and Mandy) would be firm and caring enough not to let Josh drown in his own guilt.

Bowing his head, Jed prayed for guidance.

* * *

Josh rubbed his eyes wearily, leaning his head back against the airline seat and tossing aside a folder full of polling data and opposition research on the Hoynes campaign that had been conducted during the last week. He had no idea why he had brought campaign information with him when he was going to his father’s funeral, but at the moment, thinking about Governor Bartlet and ways that he might be able to do an end run around John Hoynes was the only wall between Josh and the grief that was threatening to drown him.

His father was dead. His father had died from cancer while Josh was off running a national campaign, while Josh had been working in Washington. His father had died, and Josh hadn’t been with him.

Donna had been horrified by the way she had blurted out the news to him – but to be fair, he hadn’t really been listening to her, other than to try and get her to join in their celebration. Still, she had apologized profusely as they were hurrying back to his room, after he had spoken with his mother and assured her that he was on the way.

“Josh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“It’s . . . fine, Donna.”

“It’s not fine. I never should have said it like that.”

“Is there any good way to say it?”

They had stopped then, right in front of his door. “No,” she acknowledged softly. “I’ll have your tickets when you’re ready.”

“Okay. Thanks,” Josh said quietly, mustering up a small smile. She nodded, and left him with Mandy, who had immediately come to his side when she saw his shocked face in the wake of Donna’s news. They went into his hotel room, and Josh began blindly pulling his suitcase together, tossing suits and shirts haphazardly into its interior.

“No. Hey, don’t do it like that,” Mandy said gently, coming over and stilling his hands. “You’ll crease your suits, and you won’t have anything decent to wear when you get there.”

Josh looked down at their hands, unwilling to look at his girlfriend for fear he would fall apart – or shout at her, when it wasn’t Mandy he was angry at.

Reading his face, Mandy silently pulled him into a hug and held him.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Josh,” she murmured. “I know how much you loved him.”

“Yeah,” Josh acknowledged hoarsely.

Letting him go, Mandy straightened his clothes with a few efficient folds while Josh grabbed his toiletries from the bathroom. In less than five minutes, they had the suitcase packed, and Mandy zipped it shut with an air of purpose.

“Let’s go,” she said determinedly.

“Mandy, you don’t have to . . .”

“I want to, Josh. You shouldn’t drive to the airport alone. I want to be be with you as long as I can.”

Josh nodded, conceding defeat when his shoulders slumped. “Okay.”

Mandy had kept her promise, walking him through the airport and to the gate before they said goodbye. She had kissed him tenderly and made him promise to call her when his flight landed. Her scent, which still lingered on him after she left, was a little bit of comfort in what felt like an ocean of sorrow.

Then the Governor had shown up, and Josh’s perception of the world had turned over again as the man he was trying to get elected, the man who had done nothing but give cranky answers and shout at them all for months, spoke to him like a father and a friend, with genuine sympathy and sorrow in his face. It was the first glimpse Josh had seen of the man who had spoken at the Nashua VFW; the same compassion and intelligence, the same earnest desire to help and care for others. In that moment at the airport gate, Josh knew why he had followed Governor Bartlet and Leo, knew that his instincts about the Real Thing had been utterly right. He was humbled by the idea that the Governor, for all his testiness, really did care for him, and for all of them – enough to follow Josh to an airport on the biggest night of his political life.

Josh reached for his backpack again, hoping that some aspirin would alleviate his headache. Rummaging in the front pocket, his hand brushed an envelope that he didn’t remember packing. Pulling it out and flipping it over in puzzlement, he read his own name in Sam’s elegant script.

The note inside was less neat, Sam’s writing slightly scrawled as it always was when he was in a hurry.

_Josh,_

_I’m writing this as you pack to go to your father’s funeral, and I don’t have the words that I wish I did. In the space of two minutes, I experienced the best few moments that I have had in years, and then your entire world crumbled. You have given me such a gift by bringing me onto this campaign, and I can never thank you enough for that._

_There are better ways to put this, more elegant phrases, but you will be gone moments from now. Know that we will keep things running in your absence, and that you need to take these few days for yourself. Know that you are being thought of every minute, that we are all thinking of you and Noah and your mother. Know that we wish Noah peace and rest, that we wish you and Judith solace. Know that your father is with Joanie, and take comfort in that knowledge. Know that I share your grief. Yo estoy con vosotros en espíritu._

_Always,_

_Sam_

 Josh felt his throat close up as he tried to hold back the tears that were gathering in his eyes. He had no idea how Sam had managed to slip this note into his bag before he left, but even the two small paragraphs were enough to make his brittle composure crack. He had had one glimpse of Sam’s shocked face before he had rushed from the room with Donna and Mandy at his heels, hitting his mother’s cell number on his speed dial and trying to comfort her. Sam had met Noah and Judith Lyman several times over the years of his friendship with Josh, and he spoke truly when he said he would share Josh’s grief. Josh knew that he had been genuinely fond of Noah.

The last line of Sam’s note was the most revealing. Sam used Spanish in conversation with Spanish speakers, but Josh was one of the few people who knew that he also used it when he was deeply moved, when he needed to convey a feeling and English seemed insufficient. Josh had picked up enough Spanish over the years to be able to translate it: _I am with you in spirit_.

He wanted to pick up the phone and thank Sam. He wanted to tell him that he knew Sam was with him, that he could hear Sam’s voice in his head, at its most comforting if not its most eloquent. Since he was several thousand feet above the earth, all he could do was hold on to the consolation that Sam’s words conveyed and hope that he was strong enough to make it through the next few days.

* * *

Sam leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Every muscle in his body ached, as though his grief for Josh and Noah had been translated into physical pain. He was desperate for sleep, as they all were, but sleep would never come now. He gripped his glass of scotch, which Toby had put in his hand at some point in the last few hours, and took a long swallow.

When the news announcer had called the Illinois primary for Governor Bartlet, happiness had crackled through his veins like electricity, and his shout of victory had been echoed by everyone in the room. For a perfect five seconds, he had locked eyes with Josh, mouthing a silent _“Thank you”_ to his best friend.

Then Josh had embraced Leo, and Sam had been swept up by C. J., and he had only seen Donna approach Josh as C. J. had released him. He had watched Josh’s face change from elation to blank shock and from shock to devastation, though Josh controlled it quickly. Josh had leapt into action, leaving the rest of the room in bewildered confusion. Sam had exchanged one more fleeting look with him before he was out the door, a meager moment of sympathy. Donna had stayed behind long enough to repeat the news of Noah’s death to the rest of the staff, and then she, too, had disappeared.

When Josh left, Sam had reached blindly for a pen, hardly knowing what he needed to write down. He wanted Josh to have a talisman of some kind to carry with him. Noah Lyman had been an incredibly intelligent, kind, humorous man, and he and Josh’s mother Judith had made Sam feel at home in a way that his own parents never managed to do. He had penned a brief note and slipped it into Josh’s backpack, which was sitting on a chair in the hotel suite where the televisions screens were still blaring with their victory, unnoticed by most of the staff. Sam knew Josh would come back for the bag; he never went anywhere without it. Sure enough, Josh had flown back into the room five minutes later, suitcase in tow. Donna had called Josh a cab, and he gave Sam a wordless hug before he and Mandy departed for the airport.  The shell-shocked campaign staff had been trying to process what had happened ever since.

Sam wondered miserably if Josh had found the note, if he should have written it at all. If he had been composing for a speech, Toby would have eviscerated him for the shaky incoherence of those two paragraphs, for the jarring changes of subject, the lack of transitions, the sheer lack of polish in his writing.

In this moment, all he wanted to do was wrap Josh in his arms and tell him everything would be all right.

He swallowed another mouthful of scotch.

* * *

_Princeton, NJ, 1986_

_The Alchemist & Barrister Restaurant and Pub_

Sam worked his way back over to where his friends sat in a booth, his hands full of beers and his grin so wide his cheeks hurt. He had graduated today; he was officially a Princeton alumnus of the Woodrow Wilson School.

He slid into the booth beside his girlfriend, Jennifer, and passed around the drinks in his hands. He leaned in and kissed Jennifer. “How does it feel to be officially done with your bachelor’s?”

“Amazing,” she smiled. “I can’t believe we made it!”

“Yeah, me neither,” Sam admitted.

“Oh, come on, Mr. Magna Cum Laude,” his friend Adam teased from across the table. “We all knew you were going to be part of the top of the class. You never quit studying!”

“Well, exactly!” Sam retorted, grinning again. “I’m amazed I didn’t have a nervous breakdown! I could be in a padded room right now.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Adam’s girlfriend Carrie, shaking her head. “You were always far too put together for our eight a. m. lectures.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Jennifer affirmed with a laugh. “I had to talk him down from hyperventilating a few times in the middle of the night.”

“Oh, and I didn’t have to do the same when you were working on one of your architectural models?” Sam said indignantly.

“Touché,” Jennifer admitted.

As their friends laughed, some movement caught Sam’s attention over by the bar. There were three or four guys surrounding two men, one of whom Sam recognized. Matt Skinner was in the Wilson School with him, but in the graduate dual degree program for public affairs and law. Sam had seen him in the library a few times, and he was always friendly. Whatever was happening now, though, Sam didn’t like the look of it. While Matt and his friend appeared to be trying to placate the other men, the group of them looked like they were trying to pick a fight.

“Excuse me for one second,” he murmured to Jennifer, who looked up as he slid out of their booth and walked over to the bar.

“Is there a problem here?” he said sharply, elbowing his way into the cluster of people so that he stood by Matt and his companion. Matt looked surprised, and Sam threw him a reassuring glance, but kept his expression hard as he confronted the others.

“Oh, good, are you another one of them?” one of the guys sneered. Sam didn’t recognize him or his companions, but they clearly had been part of the graduating class; Sam could see their mortarboards and commencement programs scattered on stools farther down the bar.

“Another one of what, exactly?” Sam retorted coolly. “Another Woodrow Wilson graduate? Another guy who could kick you around the block on the SATs? Yeah. And you’re bothering my friend and his friend, so I’ll thank you to leave them alone.”

“God, you Wilson boys are all the same,” his opponent growled. “Hoity-toity cock lovers.”

Matt’s companion snorted. “Seriously? Could you be, you know, any more stereotypical?”

Despite himself, Sam’s lips twitched; Matt’s friend was right, even if he was more than a little foolish to say that aloud.

One of the other toughs in the group bristled. “How about we go outside right now and I show you how _stereotypical_ my fist is?” he snapped, his voice rising.

Matt raised his hands. “Guys, we don’t want any trouble.”

“Oh, I’ll give you trouble, fairy, whether you want it or not,” the second man snarled, now close to shouting.

Overhearing the ruckus, which was starting to draw the attention of other patrons, the bartender came barreling down to where they stood. He took in Sam and Matt’s defensive postures and the aggressive stance of the others and immediately sized up the situation.

“You all get the hell out of my bar right now, or I will have the bouncers come over here and drag you out,” he commanded, leveling a stone-hard stare at the men who had been harassing Matt and his friend. “I catch you in here again tonight, and I will call the police and have you arrested for being drunk and disorderly.”

The men exchanged glares with the bartender, but he was a tall and imposing man with plenty of muscle to back up his threats. The men left, glaring still as they gathered up their belongings and skulked out of the bar.

“Thanks, Mack,” Sam said gratefully, letting out a breath.

“You’re welcome, Sam,” Mack said, nodding at him. He turned to Matt. “Matt, I’m so sorry that you and your friend had to deal with that. I apologize.”

“That’s okay, Mack,” Matt said, with a slightly strained smile. “Thank you for looking out for us.”

“I’m Josh Lyman,” Matt’s friend said, reaching a hand over the bar. “Thank you very much.”

“My pleasure,” Mack said, shaking Josh’s hand and flashing a grin. “It makes my day better to get rid of assholes like those guys.”

“Sam, you didn’t have to do that,” Matt said, turning to him.

“Don’t be silly,” Sam said. “I wasn’t going to let them just attack you.”

Matt raised an eyebrow, but there was a smile playing around his mouth. “We crossed paths in the library.”

“Yes,” Sam acknowledged. “And you were always nice to me, and you are another Wilson graduate, and there’s no reason anyone in the world should have to put up with that kind of harassment.”

The smile bloomed on Matt’s face. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Sam smiled back.

“Sam, this is Josh Lyman,” Matt said, turning to his companion. Sam took in the man in front of him, since he hadn’t really had the chance to do so before. Josh had a head full of mussed auburn curls, dimples, and incredibly bright and intelligent brown eyes.

“So I heard,” Sam said enthusiastically. “You have a big mouth, has anyone ever told you that?”

Josh laughed, shaking Sam’s hand. “Yeah, I hear that a lot.”

“Josh and I were classmates at Harvard,” Matt filled in. “He just got back from a Fulbright scholarship at Oxford.”

“Wow,” Sam said, impressed. “That’s amazing.”

Unbelievably, given that he’d just been mouthing off a few minutes before, Josh’s expression turned a little bit shy. “It was a pretty amazing experience, that’s for sure.”

“I bet,” Sam returned kindly. “I’d love to hear about it. Hey, do you guys want to join us? You’d be welcome to.”

“We actually have a party of our own to get to,” Matt said, checking his watch. “There’s a whole bunch of my classmates who are throwing a party at the Cap & Gown tonight, and I’m supposed to be helping with the setup. You and your friends should join us, if you want.”

Sam hesitated. “We’re not members.”

“That’s fine; it’s an open party,” Matt smiled. “It would be great to have all of you.”

“It would,” Josh added. “You should come.”

Sam capitulated at this; he liked Matt, and Josh Lyman was intriguing, at the very least. “Okay. I’ll pass along the invitation. It was really nice to meet you, Josh.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Sam,” Josh returned, that quick grin once again making an appearance. “’Hopefully we’ll see you later. Take it easy.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied, and Josh and Matt nodded and were out the door.

Sam went back over to Jennifer, Adam, and Carrie, a trifle dazed.

“Sam? What was that all about?” Jennifer asked, concerned.

“Oh, some professional gay-baiters,” Sam answered, his tone irritated. “I know Matt Skinner a little bit, and he’s a good guy. I have no idea whether he or his friend are gay or not, actually, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no excuse for that kind of behavior. Mack stepped in for us.”

“Thank heavens for that,” Jennifer said, relieved. “But it was good of you to defend them.”

“I don’t understand why people have to be so cruel about sexual orientation,” Sam said, his face troubled. “There’s more than one way to love other people. There’s more than one type of sexual attraction. Why is that so hard to understand?”

“It’s not,” Jennifer said gently. “Or at least, it’s not for you, and for a whole lot of other people, including me. But we’re ahead of the curve, Sam.”

“I know,” Sam admitted, suddenly feeling exhausted. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Hey, we have an invitation for tonight, by the way. Matt and Josh asked all of us to come to the Cap & Gown party.”

“Whoa, swanky,” Adam said impishly. “I will gladly mingle with the elite.”

“Hey!” Carrie nudged him. “Just because we’re not C & G members doesn’t mean we are any less worthy than they are.”

“Yeah, but they think we are,” Adam said saucily. “It will be fun upsetting their preconceptions.”

* * *

“So what do you want to do now? What’s next?” Sam asked Josh, taking a sip of his beer. 

They were about two hours into the party at the Cap & Gown, and Adam had indeed set out to disabuse any and all of the C & G members of the notion that he and his friends were in any way inferior to them. Josh and Matt had found Sam and his friends almost as soon as they walked in, and had spent about an hour introducing them to people. Some of them were quite nice, and some of them were clearly just looking to network, and at one point Adam, Carrie, and Jen had been pulled into another group that Matt was talking to. It was then that Sam shot Josh a look of desperation, and Josh obligingly took his elbow, found them beers, and guided them to a quiet corner of the back lawn. Ever since, they had been talking, covering their families, where they were from, what they had studied in school (Josh, as it turned out, had done an honors degree in Government at Harvard, a law degree at Yale and a master’s of philosophy in Comparative Government at Oxford), and which sports teams they rooted for.

“I’m going to be in Washington,” Josh said, his face lighting up with excitement. “I’ll be working in the Minority Whip’s office. I’m leaving next week, actually; I have to go see my parents for a few days before I leave, pick up some stuff from the house.”

“Wow,” Sam sighed. “I wish I was going to Washington instead of going to law school. I know law school is a necessary step – and I do want to be a lawyer, an actual lawyer - but Washington sounds a lot more exciting right now.”

“You could go to Washington _after_ you go to law school,” Josh responded, taking him in with a keen glance. “Where are you going?”

“Duke,” Sam said. “Appropriately prestigious, but yet again, as far away from California as possible. Warmer than here, too,” he noted with a little smile.

“Your father wanted you to go to law school?” Josh guessed.

“He did, but I wanted to go as well,” Sam answered. “We just disagree about the best way to _practice_ law, and what the best kinds of laws are.”

Understanding dawned in Josh’s face. “Your father is a Republican.”

“Yeah.”

“And you are . . .”

“Incredibly not,” Sam grinned. “It makes for some interesting dinner table conversation, I can tell you.”

“I bet,” Josh smirked. “If you can stand up to your father as well as you stood up to those twats at the bar tonight, you’re going to be a fearsome lawyer.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, feeling surprised but pleased. “And since you’re working for the Minority Whip, I am assuming you are also very much a Democrat.”

“You assume correctly,” Josh chuckled. “LBJ is my favorite president.”

Sam threw back his head and laughed before he looked back at Josh, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Of course he is.”

“What does that mean?” Josh demanded, but he was smiling.

“It just doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Sam said. “LBJ suits you.”

“And you?” Josh asked in his turn. “Who’s your favorite?”

“I have two, actually,” Sam admitted. “FDR and Lincoln.”

“Huh,” Josh said thoughtfully. “That doesn’t surprise me, either.”

After a pause, and several sips of beer, Josh asked carefully, “Did you pick Duke because you wanted to be somewhere warm and prestigious, or because you wanted to get away from your father?”

Sam considered his reply, contemplating the neck of his beer bottle as he answered. “He . . . my father is a good man, Josh. We disagree a lot politically, but he has always been there for my accomplishments, and he’s supported almost every decision I’ve made about what I wanted to do with my life. Sometimes I think that getting into political arguments was his way of ensuring I’d be a lawyer,” Sam said with a smile. “I wanted to go to Princeton and then to Duke because I didn’t want any handouts; my father’s name carries a lot of weight in our part of California. He’s a highly respected person, for good reason, but I wanted to reach my goals on my own. Our relationship is complicated, but good, most of the time. The same is true of my mother.”

Josh nodded. “I’m lucky enough to have a pretty simple relationship with my parents,” he shared. “They’re great. My mother is _very_ Jewish, and so I avoid her phone calls at all costs,” he said with a grin, “but we’ve always gotten along and agreed about political and social issues. I think my father would have liked another actual lawyer in the family, though, rather than a political operative. He likes what I’m doing, but it’s not exactly where he hoped I would go, you know? He would like you.”

“I appreciate that; he sounds like a good man,” Sam said. “Do you have any brothers or sisters? I always kind of wished that I had a sibling, but it was just me.”

Josh’s face clouded over. “I . . . had a sister,” he said quietly. “She died in a house fire when I was little. She was babysitting me, and something went wrong with the popcorn machine. I ran out of the house, and she tried to put the fire out.”

“God, Josh, I am so sorry,” Sam said. He tentatively reached over to squeeze Josh’s forearm. “I didn’t know, or I wouldn’t have . . .”

“I know,” Josh said quickly. “It’s okay. She was – Joanie was really amazing. She loved classical music and funny movies. She almost never got frustrated with me; she loved to play games and teach me things.”

“She sounds great.”

“It was hard – I don’t normally talk to people about Joanie, but it’s easy to talk to you,” Josh said reflectively. “That’s . . . nice.”

“I’m glad,” Sam said softly. He paused. “Do you want another beer?”

“Sure,” Josh acquiesced. “When you come back I’ll tell you some of the stories from Oxford.”

“I would love that,” Sam said, his face lighting up. “I’ll be right back.”

And when he returned to the lawn with two more beers in hand, Josh did indeed tell him stories. At some point Sam lost track of how many subjects they covered; Josh talked about the current debates in political theory, they wandered into the practical problems of a true democracy versus a republic, and began to debate who would win the presidential election in the fall.

“I want to do that someday, Sam,” Josh said, gesturing expansively with his beer bottle. He was more than a little tipsy, Sam noticed with amusement, even though they had only had two beers apiece. “I want to help someone become President of the United States. I want to work for the guy who’s in the Oval Office. That’s the end game of all of this.”

“You can’t work for some run-of-the-mill politician, though,” Sam warned him. “If you’re going to take someone to the White House, he has to be the real thing, Josh. I mean the Real Thing with capital letters – someone with honesty, and intelligence, and integrity. Someone who truly wants to make this country better, and improve the lives of the people. I get so tired of voting for men who want the power of the presidency just for themselves. They don’t want to help American citizens, or improve the prosperity of the country as a whole; they want to exert influence over the wealthy few, or go after other countries just because they can. Promise me that you’ll only ever run a presidential campaign if the person is the Real Thing, Josh.”

“I promise,” Josh said, his face suddenly achingly sincere, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “The Real Thing. No compromises.”

Josh took the last swig of his beer and regarded Sam earnestly. “Come to Washington when you’re done at Duke, Sam. Keep in touch, and I’ll help you get a position. I think you could be amazing doing political work. Have you worked any campaigns before?”

“A few in California, and while I was here at Princeton,” Sam acknowledged. “I just volunteered, but I loved it. I always wanted to write speeches. They don’t let the volunteers do that, though,” he said wryly. “More’s the pity.”

“Are you a good writer?”

“I like to think so. I’m hoping Duke will make me better,” Sam said.

“Who’s your favorite writer?”

“Dickens,” Sam said immediately.

“Again, not surprising,” Josh murmured. “Would you send me something you’ve written?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Josh said. “If you don’t like anything you’ve written lately, pick a subject and write a speech as if you were writing for our Real Thing. I want to see what you can do.

“Okay,” Sam said, smiling. “Deal. You’ll have to give me your address, though.”

“Here,” Josh said, reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He fumbled a little with the fabric before holding out a card. “These are my cards from Oxford, but I can write my D. C. address on the back. Do you have a pen?”

Sam pulled a ballpoint pen out of his own jacket, handing it to Josh, who scribbled a few lines on the back before handing both card and pen back to him.

“Next question,” Josh said. “Jefferson or Hamilton?”

“Oh, no, really?” Sam groaned. “You want me to choose between the agrarian and the capitalist? Not to mention the slaveowner and someone who was, at the very least, complicit in slaveholding transactions?”

Josh raised his eyebrows, looking wickedly gleeful. “Yeah.”

“All right,” Sam sighed. “In principle, I would side with Jefferson. Not because I think we all should have been farmers, but because he advocated a more equal distribution of property and wealth than Hamilton. He also wrote some of the most beautiful, profound, and historically consequential words ever penned. That said, I think even Hamilton would have serious problems with what we’ve done to his capitalist system.”

“Fair enough,” Josh chuckled.  “I think so, too.”

“You just wanted to get a rise out of me!” Sam said indignantly.

Josh shrugged, unrepentant. “It’s a good debate question. It usually tells me pretty quickly whether or not I’m going to like someone. But I already like you. You stood up for Matt today – and really for me, too, without knowing anything about me.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Sam said.

 “And there wasn’t anyone else in the bar who did anything,” Josh retorted. “Not that Matt and I couldn’t take care of ourselves – and even if we couldn’t, your friend Mack could and did – but it takes either a pretty brave or a pretty foolish person to stand up for something just because it’s the right thing to do. You might have to be both at the same time.”

“Well, I don’t think I’m either particularly brave or particularly foolish,” Sam said, feeling a little stung. “Matt is my friend, or at least a friendly acquaintance, and I did the right thing because it _is_ right.”

Josh looked at his face and then leaned over and nudged Sam’s shoulder with his own. “Hey. I meant it as a compliment. I was grateful when you came over – neither Matt nor I wanted to start a fight – and let’s be honest, those guys probably could have kicked our butts. I’m not in bad shape, but I’m not exactly up to frat boy standards.”

Sam could tell that Josh was sincere, and his shoulders relaxed. “Okay. I just – it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to defend my own principles. I had this horrible public policy professor who called me an idealistic socialist, and I turned around and asked him what was wrong with that.”

Josh laughed. “To his face?”

“Yeah, and in front of about 75 other students. People seem to think that having ideals about the way society should be means you’re either completely ignorant or hopelessly naïve, and I don’t appreciate either label.”

“I don’t think you’re either of those things,” Josh said firmly. “I think politics and policy need some idealism and hope, and I think the best way to turn ideals into good public policy is to have a well-educated and passionate person articulate them.”

Josh swayed a bit as he finished his sentence, and shook his head to clear it. “If I were any more intoxicated, that would have been impossible to say. There was way too much alliteration in that sentence.”

Sam laughed again, amusement completely eradicating any defensiveness that might have lingered. “You’re drunk. You should have told me you are a complete lightweight.”

“Not something I like to publicize,” Josh murmured. “And you’re beautiful.”

Before Sam could even register his intent, Josh’s lips were on his, warm and soft and just a little sloppy, imprecise with alcohol and giddiness. It ended as quickly as it had begun, though, as Josh pulled away, wide-eyed and shocked.

“I’m – I have no idea why I did that,” he said blankly. “Sam, I’m sorry.”

Sam didn’t know what was going on in Josh’s head, at the moment, but if nothing else, he was tipsy and Josh was drunk, and he’d just been having one of the best conversations of his life with one of the most interesting people he’d ever met. “Josh, it’s okay.”

“But I’m not – I don’t,” Josh fumbled. “That was just – out of nowhere.”

Sam smiled reassuringly, mimicking Josh’s shoulder nudge. “Josh, it’s _okay_. Honestly. It’s not the first time I’ve been kissed by someone who’s a little drunk.”

“Yeah?” Josh asked, relief washing over his features.

“Yeah.”

“Because you don’t – you know, seem at all fazed by this.”

“I’m not,” Sam grinned. “Should I be?

“Well, most people would be.”

“This is going to sound incredibly snobbish, but I am not most people.”

“I’m figuring that out,” Josh said. “So we’re okay?”

“We’re okay,” Sam confirmed. “Are _you_ okay? I’m guessing from your reaction just then that you and Matt aren’t actually –”

“ _No_ ,” Josh said emphatically, incredulously. “We’re absolutely not. I’ve never kissed another man in my life until just now, and even if I were attracted to men, I don’t think I could get past the fact that Matt’s a Republican. He’s a great guy, but I don’t know how he reconciles being gay and the GOP’s social platform.”

“So Matt _is_ gay,” Sam said. “I wasn’t sure. He’s never explicitly said, but it didn’t matter to me, so I never pressed him about it.”

Josh groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Oh, God. Now I’ve outed one of your friends to you, which is absolutely not okay. I need to sleep, and I’ll try not to be humiliated tomorrow by the fact that I’ve committed two incredible faux pas in five minutes.”

Sam stood up, still grinning, and offered Josh a hand. “Matt will never know, I promise. Come on,” he said. “Let’s find you a cab.”

Josh allowed himself to be pulled up. “Thanks.”

“Just promise me you won’t freak out when you wake up tomorrow,” Sam said. He really was oddly anxious about that; Josh was . . . Sam had a gut feeling that Josh was terribly, terribly important, somehow.

“Nope,” Josh said, shaking his head. “No freak outs. If I did that, I’d never get to drag you to Washington, and I’m pretty sure that needs to happen.”

“I might have to hold you to that,” Sam chuckled, as they began walking back toward the Cap & Gown.

* * *

Sam came back to himself when he felt someone sit down next to him. He blinked, seeing Donna’s blond hair in his peripheral vision.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“No,” Sam admitted. “This is just – it’s so unfair. Tonight is supposed to be a celebration, and for Josh as much as anyone. Except now he is grieving for one of the most important people in his life. He’s always going to associate tonight with grief, and guilt.”

“Why guilt?” Donna inquired.

“His father has been ill for a while, and Josh isn’t the type of person to leave people,” Sam explained. “If he didn’t believe so strongly in what he’s doing, he would have been back home in Connecticut. He’s going to think it’s his fault.”

“Sam, it was _cancer_ ,” Donna said. “It’s no one’s fault. It’s a terrible disease.”

“Josh will still feel like it’s his fault. He shouldn’t, but he will.”

Donna took his empty glass and set it next to her on the floor, then squeezed his hand. “Is there anything in particular we should do?”

“Just be there for him,” Sam answered, returning her squeeze in thanks. “Do what he needs, don’t treat him like glass, but – be there for him.”

Donna mustered a small smile. “We will. That’s what friends are for.”


End file.
